Smoke, Sorcery, and Steel
by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac
Summary: A long time ago, the Outsider formed. Contrary to many's beliefs, he could not change his face. When aliens saw him in their dreams, they knew humanity long before humanity knew them. And they feared. Now their space whaling routes cross paths, and the aliens stare upon humanity's face proper. And they fear. Perhaps rightly so. The Outsider only shrugs, and then offers his mark.
1. Errant Mind

The Church always sought grandiosity within its monotony. One need only look to the abbeys to see it, the union of that self-same blandness coupled with the kind of engineering prowess and creativity that had catapulted the Turian Ecclesiarchy into the stars to begin with.

The outside dominated its surroundings in both width and height, the former to permit the faithful and initiated alike to make full use of its services, the latter simply to remind all of the ever watchful gaze of the Church and those who served as its faithful hands. Straight pillars of smooth white stone held up the thick roof, whose top lay ridged with cold spikes of steel. Embossed on to the pillars were the Five Commandments, the only advice one need ever give a turian in times of doubt. General Desolas recited the first as he proceeded past.

 _Stone Mind: What use is there in compromise when steeped in the rightness of our teachings? Be as firm and unyielding in your belief as the temptations arrayed before you. Your body is a strong foundation, but the mind must serve as shield against the stronger elements. Should the mind fall inward, the body will decay as surely as any building deprived of its top._

The two pillars adjacent to either side of the gaping entrance bore different art, instead depicting the first and last battles the Ecclesiarchy fought in the Unification War, a reminder of the sacrifices made to bring their nation to greatness. At the top, the victorious chained sun, symbol of the Church, shining down on the broken bodies of dissidents below.

In the center, humbled yet unbowed, the great masked ranks of the Church stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons bloodied and armor dented, yet straight-backed and unyielding. Desolas had heard it said that the original Reunification Pillars at the entrance to the Palvanus Cathedral featured no less than four hundred turian soldiers, all visually distinct courtesy of some long forgotten artist. He had never worked up the nerve to remain at the Cathedral entrance for more than a few seconds, however. The Palvanus looked on disapprovingly, and always the tolling bells called him inward.

At the bottom, of course, a single figure. The last two turians to ever accept _his_ mark, hopefully for the span of history. The Church had long sought to bury their names under a bevy of distinctive yet all equally derogatory titles, from the Twin Traitors to the Final Heretics. Yet the Terminus still knew their names, spat them at the faces of the Church faithful in blatant spite. Desolas knew this experience firsthand. He endeavored to forget regardless, for the safety of his body and mind. _Especially at a time such as this._

The pillars gave way to the building proper, the interior as cold and featureless as the abyssal deep. Desolas's footsteps rang against the solid marble with reassuring firmness and rhythm, a reminder that his body remained sure in its grip at the least. Twin staircases led up and around a grim statue of Ecclesiarch Telvus Fedorian, first of his name, a heavy stone book gripped under one robed arm, a sword lifted with the other. _Knowledge and strength. Arm yourself with each, and do not fall astray._

A single Palvanus waited at the foot of the statue, an omni-scroll extending from his wrist. At Desolas's approach, the scroll snapped back beneath the glove of the Palvanus, who adjusted his steel mask and offered a stiff bow to Desolas.

"The sun lies vanquished and broken," said the Palvanus.

"Many others fill the night sky," replied Desolas, mandibles twitching. "I am ready. This is critical."

The Palvanus extended a thick gloved hand to his left and strolled carefully before Desolas, only a single backwards glance cast in his direction to ensure he followed. Desolas did not disappoint him. Two sets of ringing booted feet echoed through the expanse. Behind Desolas, the bells began to toll, signaling the afternoon reception. For the first time in his life, he would be walking away from their clarion call.

Most of the side doors and winding lower staircases went pointedly ignored by the uninitiated. The sheer size and thickness of the wood and steel that comprised their structure was typical of the Church's architecture, straightforward and enduring. The paths that lay below did not, and were not made for the use of anyone outside the Palvanus. The uninitiated possessed only two reasons to ever descend into the dark: penitence or cleansing. _Would that I came here out of penitence._

The door opened with a drawn out creak, the Palvanus digging in his heels to pull it open all the way. Despite himself, Desolas craned his neck around the Faithful's struggling body, desperate to see whether the hammering of his heart would be immediately vindicated or not. To a mix of both relief and disappointment, he saw only a spiral stone corridor leading downwards, lit by candles. The Palvanus bade Desolas follow, and he did, feet feeling lighter than they had done a few seconds before. Then came the drawn-out creak again, and Desolas turned to see the heavy door close of its own accord, slamming shut with a decisive thunk. _Probably automated. Probably._ He tried not to dwell on the lack of any visible electronics attached to those ancient hinges.

The air grew cold and musty, Desolas's lung burning slightly with each intake of breath. The shadows shifted and danced along the walls, the candles flickering at their passing. No longer could Desolas hear the sound of bells. Now there was only the sound of breath, and the stifled pounding of boots on stone.

After about fifteen seconds of tense descent, Desolas offered a small sigh of relief at the first door. The Palvanus pushed it open with greater ease than the entrance, again offering only a single backwards warning glance to ensure the General's obedience. Desolas followed, the unease growing in his gizzard. Again, the door shut behind them without any indication as to how.

The temperature became frigid as a tomb, Desolas's breath now coming out in hazy clouds. Before them both lay a sizable room, held up by four iridescent black pillars equidistant from its center, which glittered with a thin layer of sand. Lit torches adorned bulging black walls; the stone's surface no longer remained smooth, instead having apparently been roughly carved from the unwilling earth itself. Nevertheless, another wooden door found purchase across the room from them, its outer layer coated in ebony paint, a chained golden sun painted upon it. And at the center of it all, a bleeding turian stood tied to a stiff wooden post, his back open with bleeding blue cuts. Behind him, a Palvanus carried an uncoiled barbed whip, his attire and armament alike flecked with cobalt-colored blood.

"Abott Tibor," called out Desolas's Palvanus, but the other Faithful only held up a bloody finger.

"Do not weep," instructed the other Palvanus, flicking his whip and readying a muscled shoulder. The entangled turian drew in a deep, shaking breath. "Sometimes to cleanse the mind, we must cleanse the body. First with steel, and then with soap. You have done well. The final blow comes upon you. Do not lose consciousness."

With surprising speed and abandon, Abott Tibor let loose a final lash that made Desolas wince. The air cracked with vicious thunder, and the turian grunted as his back rent open at the final blow. His body tensed and then slackened, and for a moment his head turned to Desolas, as if asking for approval. _That is not my place, Initiate._ Desolas still looked away in case he inadvertently smiled. Tibor dropped his whip to the sand and came close to the turian, grabbing him by the chin and turning his face, inspecting him closely.

"Palvanus, see that his wounds are cared for." Tibor did not turn to Desolas's guiding Palvanus, his eyes remaining fixed upon the turian he had just torn open. "This one shows promise, and I would not see that promise squandered due to an errant infection. Leave the General to me."

The Palvanus bowed and made haste to undo the Initiate's bindings. Tibor arced an imperious finger at Desolas and strode to the blackened door. This one did not open without so much as a squeak.

With one final look at the bloodied post, Desolas left his brother behind, a fierce pride burning in his heart, a blazing lighthouse shining through the darkness of his fear. _Well done, Saren. May your wounds heal well._ Desolas wondered how many of the Palvanus bore similar scars on their backs under their robes and their armor. _No. The Fourth Commandment. Fret not on matters outside your dominion … I still have faith._

The door shut behind them with a snap, revealing a cramped chamber consisting of little more than a single guttering black candle, and yet another statue of the First Ecclesiarch, sword scraping against the cavernous ceiling. A small smoothed patch of marble stretched over the floor before Telvus Fedorian.

"Sit." Tibor did not have to point where. Desolas sat before the Ecclesiarch with his head bowed, his bottom and back already aching from the hardness of the stone, at the inability to gain any relief due to its smoothness. Desolas waited for Tibor to continue.

"Do not worry for your brother. He has endured his trials without complaint or weakness." This time Desolas did permit himself a small smile, hidden as it was with his head bowed. "We do not strengthen ourselves in routine and comfort, but through adversity and faith. If we cannot withstand the sight and feel of our flesh tearing, then how can we hope to repel the same assault on our minds?" Lengthy fingers gripped Desolas's chin and lifted it upward. He stared into the mask of the Faithful, the fringe adorned with the image of a chained sun. "That is why you have come, is it not? An assault upon the mind?"

"I saw his face," replied Desolas, voice a hair above a whisper, heart skipping a beat at the mere admission. The candle flickered and smoked. "The Outsider."

"In the past, some misguided fools have told us this in the hopes of gaining the public's attention." Tibor's voice became as chill as the air that surrounded them. "A foolish notion. A pitiful notion. Others have conducted sordid rituals in armored basements, ended up mistaking jumping shadows for his attention and approval." Tibor sniffed, Desolas held his breath. "But you … you are a general, famous in his own right." Tibor brought his face close, and Desolas caught a whiff of warm and rancid breath.

"Tell me what you have seen."

"He came in a dream," replied Desolas, trying to follow his brother's example and contain the pain in his back and joints. "Pale of face, black of eyes, the strange coating of fur upon the head. He called us … tedious and predictable."

"As he is wont to do since the Rebellions." Tibor released his grip upon Desolas and took a step back, cocking his masked head. "So it is written. Did he make you an offer?"

"Yes." Desolas looked down at his own shaking hands. "He … he told me that soon the galaxy would change forever, and that the Ecclesiarchy would be the heralds of a doomed age. I had the makings of greatness within me, he said, several paths laid before me that could avert the coming end … his end…"

"The Outsider has no end," replied Tibor, voice barbed and steely. But he paused again, waited for Desolas to continue.

"I refused him and recited the Five Commandments." Desolas breathed heavily, entire body slowly becoming afflicted by little tremors. "I did not want what he offered, and I would not hear his lies. I turned a deaf ear to his words, to the howl of the Void wind, to the snatches of whale song I caught on that infernal breeze." Desolas looked up again. "The ground gave way, and I fell into blackness."

"Is that when you woke?" Tibor's mask glinted in the dim candlelight.

"He stood on a jutting edge of dull rock and caught me by the wrist." Desolas rubbed his right wrist, remembering the strength of those pale fingers. "He said … he said that this more or less reflected the galaxy. He could pull me to safety and avert the roiling dark below, but only if I permitted him to. He said he offered me rescue."

"But you are no wanton asari, so swayed by such promises." Tibor's head inched forward, scanning every minute detail upon Desolas's face. Saren's blue blood ran down his garb in little azure rivulets, making Desolas wince despite himself.

"I refused him again, and plunged into blackness." Desolas shivered. "I … awoke to the sound of a great horn, a deep resounding bellow. It wormed its way into my gizzard, shook my ailing spirit. But I was free. The horn faded, to be replaced by the clear tolling of bells. The bells above."

"Rise."

Desolas rose, trying to ignore the cracks and pops that heralded the straightening of his figure. He kept his eyes on the Abbot, who watched his every motion as if it were of the utmost importance and interest.

"Many have withstood the trials of the flesh, as you have witnessed," murmured Tibor, sharp eyes almost glowing from beneath his dull gray mask. "Few can withstand lengthy trials of the mind. We would not expect one outside the Palvanus to understand the … significance … of seeing his face within one of your dreams. He might watch us all, but rarely does he deign to extend his foul presence as fully as he did to you." Tibor took a step closer. "To resist … it goes beyond doing one's duty. It exemplifies it, exalts it. You did well coming here."

"Thank you." The invisible tight knots and chains around Desolas's chest loosened, and the air no longer felt nearly as cold upon his lung.

"I will notify the Prognosticators of your encounter." Tibor pulled an omni-scroll from his wrist, recorded a quick message with a few taps of an extended finger. "Perhaps it was foretold. The words of their order have become portentous of late, great cosmological disturbances..." His gaze flicked to Desolas. "You would do well not to relay that to anyone else."

"I trust in the Ecclesiarchy's Faithful."

"Go now. I will bring word to you if any action on our part might be required." The Palvanus flicked his omni-scroll back under his sleeve. "As it stands … impressive. Most impressive. Do not lose sight of the vanquished sun, General. Do not forget the blood that forged its chains."

"Many more suns remain." Desolas crossed his arms across his chest and bowed. Abbot Tibor beckoned him follow, and they ascended the steps together in silence, occasional drops of blue falling from Tibor on to the stones. Desolas did his best not to tread on any of it. He breathed easier as Tibor opened the heavy door and light flooded the passage. They stepped into the foyer, the high chant of the chorus's blessed mathematics resonating from the nave above.

"We will be in touch, General, if only to congratulate you again on resisting the greatest temptation any one man can experience." Abbot Tibor crossed his own armed and inclined his head. "The Ecclesiarch himself may wish to have words with you. This is the first sighting in living memory to a turian. In a sense, it is disappointing he would even make the attempt. In another sense, it is reassuring that he regards us as predictable in our refusal." The Palvanus's mask seemed to grin at Desolas as he said this, but the gray metal in truth remained unmoving. "You have our thanks. I am sure you have duties to return to."

And so Desolas did. With a lingering glance upwards at the heavy sealed doors atop the stairways above, Desolas exited the church intact of both mind and body, his very being feeling lighter at the confession and congratulation. He stood before the city now, in all its reassuring order. Desolas took in the familiar square shapes of the buildings and rigid the rigid street layouts that sliced between them. Smokestacks rose from the distant buildings like the jutting ribs of a slain whale, belching the fumes of progress. Air carriages both automated and manned streamed between the towering structures in an unending tide of motion, softly shining under the soft sun. Behind Desolas the bells sang clearly, their splendid chimes underscored and enhanced by the chorus that accompanied them.

Naturally, the moment did not last. A distant roar from above overshadowed the city's muffled scurrying. Desolas looked up with a frown, unable to recall any scheduled landings until at least half an hour hence. The roar grew louder, and Desolas hurried forward, staring up at the gray sun-streaked skies above.

A whaling vessel limped through the heavens, its aft trailing thick smoke, and judging by the lack of armament poking from its dark blue hull, its cannons and harpoons looked all but spent. _Unusual. And worrying._

The ship roared overhead with a clap of thunder, making the ground quake. Desolas watched it hurtle over the visible skyline towards the starport, and quickly brought his wrist up to check in with the local fire and air crews.

"It's locked in, General," came the reply of the crew chief manning the main tower. "It might look like it'll crash, but the velocity's fine. The ship will need extensive repairs however … and they want to see you."

"Is it the batarians again?" asked Desolas, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Their truculence has only grown since their expulsion from the Council. Perhaps this will finally allow us to secure more stringent whaling rights on our own borders."

The crew chief did not respond for a moment, so Desolas took the time to call an automated carriage to take him to the starport. He descended the stone steps, the previous fear washing away in favor of annoyance at more batarian disruption, particularly when he saw people stopping and pointing on the streets, their duties and schedules temporarily forgotten in favor of the sound and fury.

"No, it's not the batarians, General," said the crew chief, uncertainty nibbling at his tone and making Desolas cock his head in mild confusion. "They're sending for the chief chirurgeon, too. It's something new."

In the space of about two hours, Desolas had visited two of the facilities no ordinary turian would want to visit even once in their lifetime if possible: the lower levels of the Church for cleansing, and now the alien chirurgeon's work study. The material of the waiting area was at least charming enough, polished wood still gleaming with a fresh coat of resin, and the couches were as sumptuous as any chirurgeon's office could claim, black leather over soft feathers … but reputation preceded the good doctor, even if Desolas did not know her personally. Desolas sat with legs crossed, trying to dismiss his own preconceptions as the hearsay they were.

Alien children's toys, baubles and the like for asari and salarians, sat in neat piles next to curious interlocking wire structures on which hung fat colored beads, doubtless for moving around and marveling at the effects of gravity. Several awards from far-off alien universities stuck lifeless to the walls, each stamped with curious markings unpleasing to Desolas's eye. And the smell … sterile and polished, like all offices, but even stronger than any Desolas had visited. The General did not know whether to feel relieved or anxious upon the opening of the chirurgeon's door.

"General," said Dr. Secunda, her work outfit spattered with red blood, much like an asari's. "The subject is recovered and … reassembled, for lack of a better term. If you would come with me."

"Yes," replied Desolas, immediately wishing he had said something more professional and less blunt. He rose and followed the doctor into the hall beyond, nostrils flaring. It took only a short walk to reach the surgery room.

The room looked blue and cold, lit only by a single lamp hanging above from a chain. Curious organs and pieces of preserved flesh rotated in bubbling containers atop rows of shelves, each carefully labeled. Jars of blood too, in all colors, sat peacefully next to boxes of vicious looking syringes of various lengths, making Desolas flex his fingers even if there was next to no likelihood they would be used on him.

And of course, in the center stood a thick metal table, covered in white cloth. The shape underneath looked humanoid, but Desolas could determine little else.

"The _Dutiful Hands_ pulled in alongside a whale and began harvesting without difficulty," said Dr. Secunda, wringing her own hands slightly. "The process went as planned, the beast mortally wounded in the opening ten minutes … but two ships appeared, bearing unfamiliar markings. After a brief attempt to hail the _Dutiful Hands_ , they attacked concurrently and attempted to take the whale for themselves."

"They attempted to hail?" asked Desolas, wondering what pirates would bother to do that. _Not batarians then. Terminus trash? What scum would dare attack a turian whaling vessel?_

"Neither side could understand the other. The attackers attempted a boarding action. The merchant marines cut the boarders to pieces." Secunda gestured to the sheet. "They had to beat a retreat, lest their shield be overwhelmed by the attackers' cannons; it seems the two vessels may have been military, or equivalent. But, well…" Secunda stepped forward and pulled the sheet off of the corpse.

Desolas took one look at what lay under it and felt his insides churn with fear, shock, and above all, familiarity. Pale white flesh, severed at the right arm which still dripped a thick red-black fluid, a head coated with black fur at the crown and jaw … this beast was heavier set than the apparition that had plagued Desolas, it shoulders broader and its limbs corded with thick muscle, but there was no denying what he saw.

"Is this a joke?" asked Desolas, unable to wrench his fevered gaze from this wretched being, warding himself with shaking hands. "This … this must be some kind of batarian prank. Or salarian, perhaps. There is … absolutely no possibility-"

"The _Dutiful Hands_ brought no less than twenty-three "pranks" with them," replied Secunda, a little sharper than Desolas liked. "This is real. I felt the organs, ran a scan. This is no modified drell, or batarian, or asari. As far as I can tell it is male, levo-amino based, non-biotic. And it does not possess his mark, either."

"It wouldn't need his mark, would it?" snapped Desolas, baring his teeth. "It wears his same face, carries the same features! What color are its eyes?" Desolas dared not approach. The doctor stepped up to the hastily reassembled body and pulled open a fleshy flap that covered the creature's right eye.

"Brown, it would seem." Secunda let the flap slide back and straightened, turning to Desolas with a heavy frown. "Not black." She paused, and then fumbled for something in her garb, dropping it with a heavy thud against the slab. "And we found this."

Desolas warded himself. It sung slightly, and the bone shone even in the slight dim. Desolas thought he could hear the whispers again, the snatches of whale song-"

"Take it and see that it is destroyed," grunted Desolas, looking away as he fell back and leaned against a wall, trying not to look to either the bone charm before him, or to his right where another shelf lined with bubbling brown organs hung against the wall. "Secunda – we must send these to the homeworld at once. The Ecclesiarch and the Primach must be notified, the local fleets readied-" he stopped, realizing there was no reason to tell the chirurgeon any of this. To her credit, she only nodded and returned to looking at the body. "This is it. Long have we wondered if the race that plagued us with him still walked amongst these stars … and here they are. Hostile and heretical."

"Their biology is not too dissimilar from an asari's," noted Secunda without emotion, tracing the jaw of the creature. "Second place would be a batarian. The same pair of lungs in case of both, sexual dimorphism resulting in larger males like a batarians'…"

"Make ready all bodies," commanded Desolas, shutting his eyes and briefly running through all five commandments. "As presentable and intact as you can. I will make the other necessary preparations." Desolas nodded to himself, slowly at first, and then progressively faster. _And we are to be the heralds of doom? I think not. The herald lies before me, broken apart at the hands of our merchant marines._ "The Ecclesiarch. And the Primarch." _And the fleets. Ready the fleets._

Ships gathered overhead, the shuttles flitting back and forth as the marine complements boarded their respective vessels and readied their bodies and minds for what was to come. Loaded cannons and heavy music boxes sat fixed and prepped for the onslaught that awaited the Ecclesiarchy. In a scant two weeks, the orderly city Desolas had known and cherished became a swarm of martial activity, resembling more of a shoal of fish at the approach of some dark predator than an ordered military machine. Despite his best, the tales of the whalers had slipped from some fool's mouth. All knew what they had found. But their presumed capabilities only swelled with each passing day.

"I heard that the Outsider granted them all the ability to swallow flame and belch it forth at will," one sailor would swear up and down. "They have mastery over all fire, as _he_ wishes it."

"They can summons swarms of these bugs with a wave of their arms," another would proclaim, waving her own in an exaggerated display. "They'll go right through your shields, slip through the cracks in the armor, and nibble at your guts until you bleed from the eyes!"

"They don't even need weapons," one shaking marine would state half in his cups. "They rip your blade out of your hands and bite through your armor with these great pointed teeth. Then they snap the blade with one hand while the other reaches for your neck, so they can drain your blood for sustenance."

And so on, and so on, the tales went. Desolas did his best to remind everyone he saw that the local merchant marines aboard an aged and damaged whaling vessel had not only repulsed these creatures, but rather decisively at that, but he was one man amidst a sea of rumor and fear. Even the tolling of the clear bells could not bring order and reassurance. The city bubbled with doubt and dread.

For Desolas however, things took on a certain shape. It was difficult to worry about his dream and the otherworldly appearance of the corpses when the logistics of what promised to be at the least a massive patrol action reared its ugly head, leaving him with little enough time to feel anything but impatience.

Even as Desolas stood beneath the fleet-drenched skies, directing the last of the munitions crates aboard the straggling corvettes, he felt only irritation as the docking crew fumbled the crates aboard, each halting moment carrying the munitions between them a fresh source of annoyance. It was only when his omnitool finally registered a low tone indicating a high priority message that the emotion came snapping back, and Desolas looked to his wrist with slightly narrowed eyes. He opened the message, hastily punching in the security code.

Both the Ecclesiarch and Primarch had sent their own respective orders. Desolas's free hand clenched into a mighty fist as he read them.

 _Ecclesiarch Primus: Take a small force. Locate their base of operations. Reflect on the Third Commandment._

 _Primarch Fedorian: I have alerted the Union and Republics. They are deliberating as we speak. Obey the Ecclesiarch, but do not strike with your full strength. The future is uncertain, and the corpses bear no taint of the Outsider outside that single bone charm. Tread lightly._

Desolas nodded, wondering if the Ecclesiarch knew what the Primarch's message and intentions were. It did not matter. Desolas stared up at the gathered fleet above and breathed a heavy sigh.

"Man the stations!" he bellowed, and the cry echoed across the city, carried from sailor to sailor with astonishing speed and force. "The Ecclesiarch has spoken! The sun lies vanquished and broken, yet many others fill the night sky!" _And today, we must try to chain a very important sun…_

Desolas thought back to his dream and shivered. _Third Commandment: Outstretched Talons. Repulse the heretic wherever they might be found…_

The fear slowly gave way to duty.

* * *

"Rough streets," commented David, jerking a thumb in the direction of the nearest alley. Two thugs leered at them from the dim squalor within, their eyes practically flashing red as rats when Jack glanced at them, hand held before his hound to make clear that they were no threat … yet. "This one may not come from the most honest of backgrounds."

"All metal starts untamed and unrefined, buried within the cold earth," replied Jack, lip curling under his mask as the two thugs retreated further back and out of sight. Valor offered a low warning growl but heeded his master's instruction. "It is only through application of fire and hammer that it becomes something of worth and use. Whitecliff will determine the lad's true value, as it did each of us."

David nodded but kept his eyes fixed on the road before them. Cars halted at their crossing of the street, and people averted their gaze as the overseers visited an otherwise untouched part of the Shanxi colony proper. Discarded fish wrappers and empty bottles of whiskey lined the sidewalk, practically forming an over layer to the pavement in places. One dirty man lay unmoving on a bed of newspapers, and Valor offered another warning growl as they passed him by.

"Easy girl. He is only the Watch's concern." Jack sighed, wishing his mask did more to blot out the stench of poverty and misery the wind carried, an aroma more pungent than even the sovereign sea that lay glistening not half a mile away. _Would that we had the manpower to affect a cleanup ourselves. Wherever the rats and filth gather, shrines to the Outsider spring up like mushrooms after a rain…_

"This one." David sniffed, stopping and pointing at a yellow painted door. "See the gang signs? Truly the bird entrails must have been a sight to behold, to find such raw potential buried under such a heap of rubbish." He turned to Jack, arms folded. "Do you want to take this? I am told you have a way with children."

"Hardly. I simply do not resort to beatings and screaming scripture at them to force compliance." Jack shrugged and stepped up the three concrete steps, almost slipping on some brown liquid at the top. David snorted. "It is an ill thing to laugh at another's misfortune, brother."

"We are permitted precious few amusements outside the Fugue Feast. Allow me that one." David waved Jack off and turned, keeping a close eye on the streets. Valor's rear claws clacked against the steps as he followed his handler to the door. "Be quick about it. The faster we return to the abbey, the faster we can ship the boy off and enjoy a warm meal." _Callous. But this is not a duty that rewards compassion._

Jack rapped the door swiftly three times, each knock with greater force than the last. Almost immediately he heard someone shuffling to the door while someone else came pounding down a flight of stairs. A man yelled, and a woman screamed something back. With a sudden jerk, the door came open two inches, held forcefully in place by a chain. A thick woman with black curly hair falling about her neck like moss over a storm drain stared resentfully at Jack through the ajar door. Jack instinctively raised a hand before Valor, whose teeth had already begun to show.

"Bloody overseers," she hissed, drawing back. "Danny! Dan! It's the bloody overseers. About time, too." The door shut and the sound of scrabbling followed, the chain removed so as to allow entry. When the door reopened, the woman now stood next to a man of equal thickness and blotchy complexion, his eyes bloodshot and narrow. A heavy cleaver stuck through his belt on the left side, a bottle of unknown contents stuck through the other. _It does not take a Natural Philosopher to guess what gang you belong to, brother._

"The hound stays out," grunted the man, pointing a hand thick with cheap yellow rings at Valor. Valor offered another low growl.

"She tends to fly into a rage if I am not nearby to calm her," replied Jack politely, turning slightly so as to make his filled scabbard be more visible. "I'm afraid it would be best if she accompanied me. I assure you, she is quite well trained."

"Fine," spat the man, apparently expecting the rebuff. He parted to the side and pointed to the squalor inside his house. "Get in, then. Gotta make this quick."

Jack crossed the threshold with a wrinkled nose under his mask, trying to ignore the scent of rat droppings and alcohol as he entered the house. The hound followed faithfully behind, undeterred neither by the suspicious glares of the inhabitants, nor the putrid odors within. Jack passed by the rubbish-strewn staircase and entered a small kitchen. A small table covered nearly completely in whiskey bottles sat in the center of the filthy room, three chairs scattered about it. Nearly all of the drawers and cupboards lay open, their contents practically spilling out of them in various states of decay.

The two parents followed Jack inside, gesturing at the only chair with a missing leg, the man taking a bite out of a brownish Morley Apple as he sat. The woman busied herself at a suspect looking coffee machine. Jack waited briefly for an offering that did not seem to be forthcoming. _Ah, well. Could only have refused it anyway._

"The boy," said Jack finally, as the man only took another bite of the apple and eyed his hound with hostility. "Is he packed? Is he ready?"

"How the bleedin' hell are we supposed to know if he's ready?" asked the man, taking one final bite out of the apple and then leaving it on the table. "He's packed his things, all four of 'em. But I don't know what Void-forsaken nonsense you choffers get up to when it's time to snatch up all the kids. All I saw was the coin." He leered at him. "That's still comin', right?"

"Cash transfer will occur at the end of this transaction," said Jack, lip curling now as much from distaste at this man's behavior as the smell. _Would that it were the old days. They would have begged for the honor of having their son chosen, and the Abbey would not owe them a coin._ "You will be well compensated."

"And the boy?" the man asked, leaning forward. "He'll … he'll be all right? You don't torture yourselves into becomin' real religious, right?"

Jack cocked his head at this. The man's tone remained brusque, but he could see pleading in his piggy blue eyes.

"He will be well fed and watered, unless duty demands otherwise," replied Jack, hand folded neatly beneath the table, his right just ever so slightly tilted towards the hilt of his blade. "We do not select the unexceptional, sir. To become an overseer is a struggle, but a righteous one. He will have a far better chance at serving the empire under the Abbey then he would with the Bottle Street Boys."

Jack expected a reprimand at that remark, only for the man to nod, his lip suddenly wobbling.

"Right. Right. Lemme just … lemme just fetch him from upstairs. You can meet us at the door." He stood and turned to his wife, who now poured steaming black coffee into two shiny red thermoses. "Eh … you want to fetch him with me, or…?"

"At the door," replied his wife, no longer looking nearly as hostile. The husband nodded and shambled in the direction of the stairs, his boots kicking up dust with each heavy footfall. Jack made for the door, only to be stopped by the wife, a thermos in each hand.

"One for the both of you," she said firmly, pressing the hot containers into Jack's gloved fingers. Jack opened his mouth to refuse them, only to nod, and clip them to his belt. _Two for the boy, you mean. We are forbidden caffeine._

Valor loped behind them, ears pricked up at some unheard sound. At a small whistle and a pointed finger, she waited outside, sitting on her haunches and occasionally glancing upward. _Likely a whaler vessel entering the atmosphere. We're due for one or two._ Jack kept his own attention locked at the top of the stairs.

The boy lacked the same thickness as his parents, but doubtless a lifetime running with lowlifes and from the Watch would have afforded him their physique eventually. He was a small lad for his eight years, the sack tied to his back almost looking too big for him, even pitifully small as it was. Jack thought he could see a toy sword poking out of a corner, doubtless attached to some figurine. _Ah, my child. It will be the first thing to go when you reach Whitecliff, and it will be for the best._

The boy did possess the same reddened cheeks and black hair of his parents, but none of the same impudence they had displayed at their first meeting. He instead stared with surprise at the hound at the door, as if such a creature's presence at his home was unthinkable.

"Alright, boy," said the father as he reached the landing, making the lad turn and face his much larger father. "You're gonna be off to a nice place, where they'll teach you how to be real religious. Don't you screw it up, or you'll get a right clip 'round the ear from your ol' da. Right?"

"Yes, da," said the boy, a little scared and confused. After a moment's pause, the father reached down and pulled his son in for a tight hug. "Um, when do you get to visit?"

"You can ask the Overseers about it," said the man gruffly, pulling away from his son and suddenly finding intense interest in the crooked portrait nailed to the wall next to him. "But don't you start cryin' about this and that. It's … it's not what men do."

"Good luck," said the woman, who did not bother to contain the own tears welling at her cheeks. Jack sighed and rolled his eyes under his mask. _This could have been over with five minutes ago … surely my own choosing did not warrant such fanfare?_ He could not in all honesty recall it. Only the sensation of being hungry. "Go up there and show 'em all what Shepards are made of. You don't have to be all high and mighty to be an overseer."

"Yes, ma," said the boy, not crying, just looking ashen and scared, clutching the sack with renewed urgency, his small fingers whitening. The woman patted him on the back and he turned at last to Jack, eyes wide.

"With me now, lad." Jack motioned for the door and gave a sharp whistle. Valor began her own descent down the steps, and David waited below with folded arms. "There is nothing to be frightened of." _Reserve your fear for the Outsider._

The door shut with a hurried click behind them, a dry sob following them as they reemerged on to the streets David rightfully designated as "rough." David nodded at the boy, who did not notice. Shepard instead stared at the hound with wide eyes.

"We could take the railcar back," David suggested, tone suggesting that he would greatly prefer that option. "It's a long walk, and I trust these streets no more than I would a choppy sea."

"A long walk will be good for the legs, and will allow the boy some time to get his bearings." Jack whistled again, and Valor joined him at his side. The boy watched with a mix of wariness and awe. "Have you seen a hound before, boy?"

The boy shook his head, the sack rattling with a depressing hollowness. Jack stuck two gloved fingers in his mouth and whistled again, the hound sitting at his command.

"Give her a pet. She is quite well-trained."

The boy stepped forward, extending a shaking hand to Valor, who waited patiently. He ran three hesitant fingers behind her right ear, which twitched at the touch. The boy made no sound, instead giving the hound his rapt attention as he ran the fingers from fang to fur, feeling the transition between scaly flesh and soft hair.

"That will be enough," said Jack, and the boy withdrew his hand. "Up!" The hound rose again, and reassumed its place at Jack's side. "Come. We walk to the abbey."

"For whatever reason," grunted David, but Jack pretended not to hear him.

"Do you have a hound too?" the boy asked David, making Jack chuckle.

"Not at present," said David through gritted teeth. "We have yet to find a suitable match."

"David is an ill-tempered beast, and we have yet to find a wolfhound that matches his aggressiveness and ferocity," said Jack, smiling under his mask. "It will all happen in due time. He has only recently completed his own training as a Warfare Overseer."

"Is that a different kind of overseer?" asked the boy. _He asks pertinent questions. Good._

"Warfare Overseers fulfill the more martial duties of the Abbey of the Everyman," replied Jack, wondering if he should slow his pace to allow the child's smaller legs some relief. But Shepard kept pace without issue. "We fight with blade and pistol, shield and mathematics. Wherever we tread, heretics tremble in fear, their foul magics failing them. We root out corruption and put it to the sword with a swiftness." Jack glanced back at the child, who stared at him in awe. "In time, you will understand the importance of this duty, as well as the difficulty as its execution."

"Everywhere you go, people carve bone charms," grunted David, not looking at the child. "People hold séances. They raise shrines. They try to attract the Outsider's attention. The lucky ones are met with disappointment. The unlucky ones are pointed out by the Oracular Sisters, and then we start beating down the doors."

"Should overseers come to call, know your strictures one and all," recited Jack. "Do you know the Seven Strictures, lad? How dutiful were your parents?" The lad did not respond, but Jack could not feel surprise at this. "Do not fear. You did not choose ignorance. You will be taught."

The sullen streets gave way to brighter avenues frequently trod by the feet of the Watch. The boy followed the Watch's movements with a fearfulness borne of experience, and one officer even looked back with some hint of contempt borne of recognition. But of course, the boy walked with two Warfare Overseers and a hound of the Abbey. His days of being molested by the Watch were over.

"They seem nervous." David pointed a gloved finger to a small congregation of watchmen assembled before an officer, who seemed to be drilling them relentlessly. Others hurried to and fro, hands fixed to the pistols slung across their chests. Just as Jack opened his mouth to respond, both of their omnitools pinged.

"Oh, what is this, now?" Jack held up a finger, making both boy and hound stop. He activated his omnitool, only to be surprised by the stamp at the top of the message. _High importance. Oracular prophecy._ Jack's eyebrows jumped beneath his mask.

 _A flock of birds will shadow Shanxi, dragging a chained sun behind them. A ray of blackness will shine on one of our own in the final hour. The storm must be weathered, a bright dawn following red slaughter._

"It is rare that this is shared to all of us," muttered Jack, glancing to David to make sure he heard. "And it is even more cryptic than I am used to. This is no announcement of blight or good season for crops. And it mentions Shanxi by name."

"Someone has to pay attention to this forsaken place." David shut off his omnitool. "A flock of birds dragging a chained sun? I have seen such images tattooed on the arms of drunken Pandyssian whalers. I cannot fathom what it could be beyond that. A whaler's fancy."

"Do not be so quick to dismiss our Sisters in the order, brother." Jack advanced a step to underscore his point. "They are well-versed in all matters, and pay far closer attention to the stars than we ever could. Such messages are not relayed to us without heavy deliberation and research. To dismiss it so falls short of heresy … but not short of folly."

"I will remember this," replied David stiffly, motioning with equally rigid arms. "Come. We are almost there."

No sooner had they taken but a few steps forward, the loudspeaker began to blare, making the boy to jump backward in shock. The hound's ears flattened against her head.

"Attention Shanxi citizens," began the loudspeaker, pausing uncharacteristically for a few moments. "There has been some kind of atmospheric disturbance. All citizens are advised to retreat to their homes and await further instruction. More information will be relayed as it becomes available."

"Now what?" Jack spread his arms wide. "Hmph. Best hurry to the Abbey, then."

The Watchmen's movements became even more hurried and frantic, barking orders to one another and motioning with a quickness borne of … fear. Jack quickened the pace and considered scooping the boy into his arms. The abbey loomed at the top of the hill. _Perhaps we should have taken a railcar._

A high whistling filled the air. Jack looked up just in time to see _something_ smash into Shanxi's city shield with incomparable force, shards of hot metal flying in all directions. Valor began barking furiously, teeth bared and ears lying flat against her elongated skull, aware that something was terribly wrong. The boy only stared in dumb shock, uncertain of what was going on.

"Attention Shanxi citizens," began the announcer, "we under attack by-"

Loud familiar droning drowned out his still measured words. Jack stared up in naked surprise as the roar of the purest ancient mathematics rained down from above, doubtlessly snuffing out any and all supernatural activity in the city, assuming there was any. _What is this? No pirate would do this. No pirate would dare…_

"The abbey," said Jack again, grabbing the boy around the middle and hoisting him up. "We must get to the abbey."

Several more muffled booms announced more useless volleys directed at the trans-eezo barrier, and Jack quickened the pace, Valor bounding alongside him with her hackles raised.

"Ships!" bellowed a Watchman, pointing her blade upward, voice barely audible over the droning. "Ships from above!"

Jack took one desperate look upward, the boy held tightly in his arms. Boxy shuttles rode in from beyond the ocean, dozens of them. The Watch gathered against all alleys and building corners, facing the oncoming onslaught. _They intend to take this city conventionally, lower the shield from within._ Jack quickened the pace. The droning became underscored with the hum of unfamiliar engines.

The other overseers gathered in the yard, arrayed in battle lines, pistols clinging tightly to their uniforms, hounds at many of their sides. Overseer Oleg walked up and down their lines, barking harsh instructions and insights to the assembled men, most of which likely went unheard as the coastline cannons began their barrage. Oleg turned to the three of them as they approached, looking Jack up and down.

"David, take the boy inside," said Oleg without a beat, and Jack handed the wide-eyed child to David without question. "Brother, with me. We will have need of you and Valor. The enemy approaches. The Outsider's servants, no doubt."

"Is this what our Sisters spoke of?" asked Jack, only to be brushed off. He assumed his own position in the line, one fist held against his chest, braced against the hardness of his pistol.

Shouts and swordplay rang upward from the streets below, and alarms began to bounce off the sides of buildings, creating a horrible racket. Still the mathematics droned on. _How can they be servants if they use the mathematics?_ But Jack only shook his head. _Errant mind, errant mind. They seek to destroy us, that much is clear. Whether they are allied to him does not matter._

"Two shuttles approach!" Oleg pointed, and indeed two dark silhouettes now descended directly from above. "One volley!"

"Firing!" The overseers drew their pistols from their harnesses and aimed carefully. They fired as one, an echoing crack that cast smoke all about them. The shuttle's hull flared and shook, minor dents appearing at the impacts. But it seemed they bore shields as well.

"Shields active! Sword to sword! Cover your brothers and do not let them be flanked!"

Jack ripped his blade free and clenched his free fist, activating his shield. The hum of energy around him felt most reassuring. The shuttles opened and the enemy fell from above, their profiles strange and fearsome. The first hit the ground with a rattling roar, a serrated hatchet clutched in one hand. Its face almost resembled a hound, elongated and strange.

Others fell to the ground, their armored boots absorbing the worst of the fall. They gestured and screamed, pounding the flats of their blades against their armored shoulders and charging, a chant going up as they ran.

"For the High Overseer!" shouted Jack, his own voice muffled by the various shouts of his brothers and the snarling of hounds. He met the enemy in a clash of faith on steel.

The first blow he dealt was hurriedly thrust aside, the beast's hatchet catching the blade and thrusting it away, the beast screaming at him from beneath its own gray metal mask. Jack pressed forward, the Seven Strictures flashing through his mind, unwilling to be intimidated. The beast fell back with a surprised snarl as Jack adjusted his footing and swung again twice, neatly turning to the side to dodge the creature's own fearsome swipe.

"I'll see the future in your entrails!" screamed Jack, driving forward and forcing the beast back. A blow snuck through, nicked the armor on the shoulder. The beast lashed out with a series of quick swipes, only for Jack to nimbly draw back. Then he smiled.

Valor collided with the beast full force, knocking it to the ground. With a gurgling growl she reached past the armor and ripped at the throat, the blood coming free in a spray of blue. Jack nodded and turned to his brother at his side, hard-pressed. Jack pulled his own pistol free and aimed clean.

"Clear the line!" His Brother took a hasty step backward. "Firing!"

The beast took the round square in the chest and folded, clutching where the round had struck in pain, clearly winded, a massive dent in its armor. The shield remained unbroken – but a blade could always sneak through. Jack's Brother stepped forward and planted the blade neatly through the beast's neck, the armor giving way to the pinpoint pressure of his sabre. He muttered a thanks to Jack and resumed his task.

Steel on steel. Screams met by screams. More beasts fell from the heavens, their shuttles gathering overhead like flocks of the prophesied birds. A grenade burst at the center of a small pack of them, scattering them like rats. Brother and hound fought on, their jaws and blades bloody. The mathematics above soon ceased. The alarms below did not.

Jack grinned underneath his now askew mask. Some of the beasts now bore similar blades, straight swords with thick handguards. One met his blade with a grunt, their weapons meeting with a shriek of tortured metal, locking and shaking against each other. Jack braced himself and pushed forward, body aching from the fighting. The beast pushed back, screaming at him, strange mandibles appearing from beneath its own helmet. After a moment of struggle, it surged forward. Jack stumbled, and a meaty fist met his face with a crunch.

Jack fell to the floor with a groan, blade in hand only barely. He raised it up instinctively as the world bucked and swam, the gray skies above twisting as he stared upwards with unfocused eyes. A pistol shot rang out, leaving a trail fading smoke in its wake above him. A gloved hand lifted Jack upward.

"Up the stairs," said David, pulling Jack back. Jack nodded and gave two sharp whistles, hoping Valor still survived amidst this chaos. _Up the stairs, girl. A treat if you survive this._

The other Overseers fell back in waves, kneeling and firing their pistols to unsteady their enemy, drive them back. The wounded clutched the shoulders of the fresh, and too many lay stiff and still in the courtyard soil, their masks bloodied and trampled underfoot. Too many hounds lay atop their masters, their lives given in service of a higher cause they would never fully understand. Jack could not bear to look for long.

At the top level, Oleg ushered in the survivors through the thick doors, his mask missing, his brow cut and bloody. Jack saw no sign of Valor … or of any hound for that matter. _She was a good girl. May she find rest in the Void._

"Can you still stand?" asked David as they crossed the threshold into the abbey proper, and Jack nodded, relinquishing his grip around David's shoulder. His feet faltered for a moment, and then the world ceased its spinning. With a grinding of gears, the great doors of the abbey swung shut. Then the room shook.

"They have landed cannons and great armored ones," said Oleg, standing before the doors with hands on his hips. "Confound these beasts, they will not have one of us alive!"

Jack breathed heavily and lifted his blade before his face, examining the fresh nicks and the blue blood that coated it. His other hand felt for his pistol, only to find it missing. _Ah. A pity. Perhaps someone else has a spare?_

"Grenades. Take grenades." Two of the Brothers deposited a great chest in the center of the hall. The still-standing Brothers converged upon it, clutching multiple grenades to their chests, hurriedly fastening them to their belts and harnesses. "They bring great armor. Grenades to break them."

The doors shook, and rubble fell from above. Jack looked up in time to see the cracks spreading across the John Clavering mural above.

"Cannons," grunted David. All overseers spread out, standing away from the door, some clutching pistols in one hand and sabres in the other. Jack took position behind the closest pillar to the door's right, one hand firmly gripping a grenade. The doors rocked again, and the beasts began their infernal chanting.

The building shook hard, and Jack gasped as he was jerked away from the pillar. He looked up just in time to see a section of roof fall from above, the gold paint cracked and dusted. _It falls far from me_. Yet Jack still covered his face as it fell with an almighty crash, spraying dust and rock everywhere. Jack felt a sharp pain at his right temple, and temporarily collapsed, a muffled scream beginning a jagged dance inside his ears. With a jerk his head hit the floor, and his vision blackened. Only for a moment though.

When he raised his head … something had changed.

No cannons sounded, no alarms blared. Now only the howl of wind could be heard, and of his brothers Jack saw no sign. The doors of the abbey stood askew, and a dark sky could be seen beyond it. Jack unsteadily rose to his feet and realized he had lost grip of his blade. It remained nowhere to be seen on the partially cracked ruin of the floor.

"David?" Jack peered around the pillars, looked up the stairs above. No one could be seen. "Oleg? …Valor?" _Restrict the Wandering Gaze that looks hither and yonder …_ nevertheless, Jack took his first reluctant steps outside the abbey. Then all became clear.

Great chunks of purple rock hung in an endless void, the odd lamppost clinging to one or two. Dark clouds and whale song bore themselves upon an eldritch howling wind. Jack's heart beat faster. The ground he stood began in the abbey's rock, but it quickly gave way to the strange purple sheen of the Void's surface, defiling the august imagery with its sorcerous stink.

"Restrict the Wandering Gaze that looks hither andyonder for some flashing thing that easily catches a man's fancy in one moment, but brings calamity in the next," recited Jack, falling to his knees and shutting his eyes, knowing exactly where he was, and exactly who was coming. "For the eyes are never tired of seeing, nor are they quick to spot illusion…"

"You may as well skip to Errant Mind," said a strange voice, making Jack's skin crawl and his heart buck as a vessel besieged by storms. "That is the main concern here, is it not?"

Jack looked up. Ribbons of black formed and merged with the sound of an arrow being loosed, a man with abyssal eyes forming out of the nothing. His dress was archaic, and his feet did not touch the ground. He folded his arms and watched Jack with a smirk, and Jack could only stare back, the dull pulse of his veins coursing through his ears.

"You and the turians … so dull these days." The Outsider's smirk disappeared, replaced by annoyance. "Clinging to your old hatreds and traditions, as if they can truly hold back the waves of dissatisfaction and doubt that plague your nations. You, at least, have a chance to make a change."

"Restrict an Errant Mind before it becomes fractious and divided," gasped Jack, turning away from the Outsider and folding his head inward against his chest. "Can two enemies occupy the same body? No, for the first-"

"Silence, now. At the very least, you will listen for a time." Jack's voice caught short, as if the Outsider had stolen his speech from his body. The Stricture went on in Jack's mind, and he refused to look up. "Your persistence is admirable, but it will cost you the life of everyone inside your abbey. David, Oleg, yourself … Shepard."

Jack looked up, despite himself. The Strictures ran on, but he could not take his eyes of the floating figure.

"The fragment of rock from the falling ceiling knocked you unconscious. It will last only for the span of four seconds." The Outsider extended a hand. "Not much time, but time has little meaning here. When you wake, the doors will burst open. The turians will storm the inside with a mix of power armored units and their usual infantry. It will be a slaughter."

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but his voice remained stolen. He stared up at the Outsider, the hatred churning within him, mixing with genuine uncertainty.

"This is a tedious outcome; too many amusing timelines will be cut short." The Outsider arched an eyebrow. "Yours among them. Can you believe that, Overseer? You stand out amidst your faceless colleagues. I find you, well, not interesting at the moment … but you could be. You could be. The fact you have not thrown yourself off the edge into the Void is at least somewhat encouraging." The Outsider smiled, and Jack felt a chill run through his spine. He glanced at the edge, but did not move.

"I am here to offer you a choice," said the Outsider, and Jack reflexively flinched. _I dreamed of this day … the day I could spurn him and win the favor of the High Overseer. The first overseer in generations to speak with him._ "It is a simple one, and I will not lie to you about the immediate outcomes of each. Accept my mark. Repulse the attack with my blessing. Save everyone in the church. You will be a pariah … and their savior."

"You would ask an overseer to accept your blessing … while he stands on abbey ground?" Jack's voice sounded hoarse now, his speech returning with a rattling gasp.

"The other outcome: you remain faithful. You remain foolish. The turians storm the abbey and slay everyone inside. Man. Woman. Soldier. Servant. Child." The Outsider shrugged. "You lack the strength to repel them, and the turians are swift in their retribution. Your resistance has enraged them, and they believe you my servants."

"You did this." Jack rose, the anger flaring. "You set these monsters upon us!"

"I did not." The Outsider remained unmoved. "I do not set peoples on one another. They are capable of that entirely of their own volition. The turians act out of mistaken hatred. It will pass. But first you must choose either survival or service. You cannot have both."

Jack glanced at the edge of the Void, at the sheer drop that waited. Whale song drifted across the emptiness, more haunting than anything Jack had borne witness to in the waking world.

 _The Seven Strictures … the Seven Strictures…_ The face of Shepard and his parents swam into view.

"Think of it this way," said the Outsider, still floating with an indifferent posture. "It would be a sacrifice: your honor for the lives of one hundred and seventy-six people. Including your own. I do not give my gift to those who do not want it. And I do not give it to those who cannot make a difference."

"The Abbey teaches…" breathed Jack, but he could only glance back at the ruined mockery of his abbey within the Void and wonder … wondered if anyone would know or care about his decision to remain pure. _I would not die a martyr. I would just be another stiff corpse, brought low by these creatures. Valor … Valor would have died for nothing. Just another stiff corpse…_

Life. A sweet thing. But an ephemeral thing, destined to be pulled back into the Void eventually. Most would do so clean of any of the Outsider's influence. Many others would be pulled back too soon. _Like Shepard will. Like Valor did._

"We have all the time there is," said the Outsider, spreading his arms wide as Jack looked up. "What will it be?"

"You would let me work black magics." Jack clenched his fists, heard one of the knuckles crack. "You would have me serve you."

"No, I would not have you serve me," replied the Outsider, his tone growing incredibly bored. "You may do as you please. You may even chop off your hand once the turians are dead and loudly proclaim your hatred of me as your comrades look on, I don't care. The only choice I care about is this one. Accept?" The Outsider's smile disappeared. "Or decline."

Jack lifted his left hand and stared at the wrist. _Yes. I can take the mark … on the left hand. Sever it. Watch the cleansed blood spill free … after I save everyone._

"I do not work your will," grunted Jack through gritted teeth. "I do this only to save the lives of my Brothers."

"As you will." The Outsider shrugged, and Jack shut his eyes as the back of his left hand burned. He opened his eyes just in time to see the wretched symbol glow through his clenched glove and then fade. _It lies underneath, now._ Jack breathed heavily and looked up at the Outsider.

"I cannot give you much. And I cannot even guarantee my gift will be enough to drive them back." The Outsider's lips grew thin. "But it will give you a chance. It's up to your skill now. Take your blade with one hand … take time with the other. Feel its ripples."

Jack gripped his left hand with a great tightness. The symbol beneath glowed hot, making Jack gasp at the sense of electric power coursing through his veins. He released his grip, the symbol fading, snatches of some ancient language mixing with the whale song. The world turned gray and monotone, and all slowed to the pace of a snail.

"See the distant rock?" The Outsider vanished, reappeared at a floating chunk of stone well beyond the reach of any man's legs. "Reach it."

Jack, feeling giddy now, clenched his fist yet again, envisioning his feet standing upon the stone, somehow knowing it was possible. The world stopped entirely as he stood there, all turning gray and dull. He released his hand, and stood beneath the floating Outsider.

"That is all I can give you, for now." The Outsider smiled. "And it should be more than enough."

Jack's vision blurred, his head jerking with the sudden consciousness. He felt strange, memories swimming in and out of his skull – a great invasion, steel on steel, a floating figure. None of it made any sense. He moaned and propped himself up on his elbows, his temple throbbing. He wiped the blood from his face and looked around. _It is a battle. It must be._ David called out his name – and the doors burst open in a shower of splinters.

 _Turians._ He knew their name now, but his head throbbed, blocking all knowledge of the how and where. His blade clanked against the stone of the floor, clutched so tightly his knuckles hurt. His other hand … his other hand bore nothing, yet strength pulsed from it all the same. _I … yes._

The turians stormed through the door, screaming in their raucous voices, bellowing in high-pitched triumph. The first drove a blade through the prone figure of an overseer without realizing the man was already dead. The others rushed forward, a tall and heavily armored figure bearing a massive blade striding in their wake … and Jack remembered. Jack knew.

Jack rose, left hand clenching. His gaze met the first turian, his blade pulled from the corpse with a thick new coating of red. Jack smiled, the Outsider's mark burning beneath his glove. He released his grip, and the wind changed.

Jack ran forward with a cry, all others walking as if through molasses. He drove his blade clean through the neck of the first turian, its eyes widening in surprise at the speed Jack moved at. He ripped it clean with a shower of sluggish blue droplets, the turian falling in comical slow motion. Jack directed his will behind the door and appeared there with a whisper, the wind roaring in his ears. The turians presented their vulnerable backs. Jack did not hesitate.

One fell, the blade driving between helmet and suit and finding the vulnerable neck. The gurgle he let out was nothing short of beautiful. Jack pulled his blade free and drove two deep cuts at the next, the first rending armor aside, the other leaving a deep azure gash that wept freely.

Time snapped back, and the turians stopped in confusion. Jack did not slow. The first blow parted head and body of the first turian to turn and double back in shock, a cobalt fountain left in the wake of his blade. The power armor turned and Jack envisioned himself behind it. The armor's large arm cannon sounded twice, scattering fire and stone where Jack had once stood … but Jack leapt and drove his blade deep into the back of the right arm joint. The armor's sword fell with a heavy clatter.

Overseers shouted behind him, their guns sounding and making the armor stagger, fall to a knee at the raw kinetic force bleeding through the shield. Jack lunged forward and found the weak spot under the chin, his sliver of sharp moonlight parting first a membrane of metal, then of flesh. The power armor buckled back and convulsed, thrashing in place.

Jack leapt nimbly over it, the adrenaline flowing freely, his blood roaring. Turians ran up the stairs, shouting with what might have been panic. Jack called on time to slow, and it obeyed … for what Jack sensed would be the last time for the moment.

Jack drove himself down the steps, a whirlwind of vengeful death and magic-infused madness. Limbs fell free in a flurry of blows, and Jack had to remind himself to not use his full strength, lest the shield likely trigger. Turians began to turn in slow motion, preparing for a hasty retreat down the stairs. His blade met their backs all the same.

Time snapped back, and Jack stood amidst a field of corpses. Turians backed away from him, pistols drawn, shouting instructions. Overseers charged from above, joining Jack on the field, sabres rattling. Jack breathed heavily, his left hand burning, his mind reeling at the strain and the implications of what he could now do. _I … I saved them. I saved them all._

The turians fell back to the abbey gate, their numbers reduced to under half a dozen. Twice as many Warfare Overseers now gathered at the courtyard, weapons drawn, bellowing insults at the beasts as they screamed to one another. Jack laughed and stepped forward … only to feel a hard hand clamp on his shoulder.

"Heretic," said David simply, driving Jack down with a cry, a sabre held at Jack's throat. "Brothers! He commits heresy!"

No one paid David any mind for the moment, but Jack knew that would not last. The turians retreated beyond the gate, likely regrouping with a larger contingent of their brethren. They would have plenty of time to swiftly slay the heretic. _And do I not deserve it? I accepted the mark and did my duty. They are saved._

The corpses of too many hounds and Brothers stared back at Jack, making that statement ring untrue. Atop the corpse of a turian … he could see the familiar coat of Valor, nuzzle a glowing blue. _Ah. Died a true hound of the Abbey._ Despite himself, the tears welled up under his mask.

"Brother Oleg!" David beckoned Oleg over, and the man stood over David, tall and severe, his head wound still bleeding freely. "Black magic."

Oleg nodded and kneeled before Jack. He removed his mask and stared into his eyes with a furrowed brow, dropping his mask with a small clatter.

"Black magic in service of the abbey," murmured Oleg, eyes narrowed, stroking his chin. "Black magic that saved our lives."

Shuttles flew back into the heavens, a strange turian voice booming from what might have been some distant loudspeaker.

"How long?" asked Oleg, voice quiet, staring intently, hungrily at Jack. "How long have you worn the mark?"

"I fell unconscious as the ceiling struck my temple." Jack kept his voice low but steady. "He told me I could save the abbey."

"And so you did." Oleg stood. "Release him, brother."

"Brother?" David protested but pulled the blade from Jack's neck. "Oleg?"

"Go," said Oleg, not looking at Jack, only standing and keeping his gaze fixed on David. "Take to the streets if you can, save others. Do not return."

"This is heresy." David took a heavy step forward, brought his face close to Oleg as Jack rose unsteadily, the distant rooftops beckoning. _He … is right._

"This is justice," replied Oleg, folding his arms. "We could not have held them. I am willing to grant a head start at the very least." The other overseers now approached, blades drawn, the Seven Strictures muttered under their breath. _He … is also right._ "Go!"

Jack envisioned the distant rooftops. Soon after, he ran atop them, left hand burning, mask discarded, belonging to no one any longer.

* * *

Loudspeakers blared the same news over and over again across Shanxi. Partial victory, thanks to the strong arms and wills of the Watch and Overseers. Death counts for each district, the numbers far too high. And the same tired speech over and over again, haltingly translated, declaring a ceasefire courtesy of the A-sar-i Union. Jack kept his head down and his hood up through all of this, the only vestige of his past life being his blade.

The death carts hovered through the streets, bearing turian and human alike. Red and blue alike ran in the gutters, creating not the expected purple but instead a nauseating pale brown that made Jack sick to look at. He trod lightly through the streets, meeting no man or woman's eye as he walked to the Bottle District, where Shepard had been retrieved. His blood hummed as he approached the streets, an electric tingle that he knew only he could feel. A shrine. Close.

Jack's stomach growled as he walked down the corpse-strewn streets. No food for a heretic overseer, unless of course he chose to disobey the Third and Fifth Commandments. _And I am not there, yet._ He sniffed, the hunger turning to nausea.

The Watch had not yet seen fit to clean the district, for it truly mattered little in their great scheme of things. Did the Empress care if the slums were a little slow to be tidied? Did the nobility? Jack gritted his teeth at the scenes of carnage before him, children running between bodies still clutching heavy cleavers, prying the rings and other jewelry off the dead. _Could have been the Shepard boy._

Jack stopped before a white house, seemingly untouched by the devastation that otherwise surrounded him. A brown painted door sat invitingly before him, and flowers of various stripes and colors adorned the windows. _Of course. In the most unlikely of places._ Jack shook his head. His blood hummed. He knew this house to be it.

Jack knocked on the door hard before loosening his left glove. After a few moments, the door opened a tad. Jack thrust his fist at the crack, revealing the mark.

"I know you have a shrine," said Jack. Take me there. Now."

The door slid open, and a man in a whaling uniform sans mask gestured for Jack to enter, his skin pale, his brown hair balding. _Looks like a captain._ The man's blade, secured beneath his belt, looked like no cheap piece of work. The door shut behind Jack with a snap.

"No questions," said Jack, wondering how it came to this. _Easy. It came to this through a single sacrifice. How many lives did I save?_ "Take me there."

The man bowed and strode to a gleaming staircase. He pulled open a cupboard along its side, and then unlocked a hidden trapdoor below, buried under a black sheet. The smell of the Void wafted from beneath.

 _Descending into an armed stranger's basement … folly._ But it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Jack had magic, and the fool heretic knew it. No lock could bar him. No blade could dissuade him. _How can you stop a man who can stop time itself?_ It made Jack almost tremble to think of it. _But … with the entirety of the Empire arrayed against you…_

He had to make him take it back. That was a reasonable request. Jack had done his job, and now the Outsider would have no more use for him. Not really part of the arrangement, and Jack knew he could never return to the Abbey, but there was other work. Honest work. Honest work that would require two working hands.

Jack climbed down the metal rungs, his feet and hands pounding a rhythm with his heart. When he turned about, his breath caught. _A shrine._ Twisted metal and carved bone, combined into a strange beast of magic and art. A rune sat upon the sigil-coated surface of the shrine, and Jack felt its pull, the hunger that now resided within him. _Restrict the Rampant Hunger or…_

Jack stepped forward, gloved hand outstretched. The rune called, and he took it carefully in his hand, marveling at the way the light caught on the Outsider's mark adorning it. Time and space collapsed around him, replaced by howling purple Void. Jack stared up … and he appeared.

"That was commendably fast." The Outsider folded his arms. "You're quite resourceful, aren't you?"

"Take it back." Jack thrust his ungloved hand upwards, facing the mark at the Outsider. "I did what you wanted. I fought well. Take it back and let me live my life. Free of the Abbey, perhaps, but not its teachings. I want no part of you."

"Then take a knife to your hand." The Outsider shrugged. "As for the mark … no. It is yours now, to do as you will with. I have no need of it. And it will be a far more entertaining display to see what you do next, even if it as simple as leaving a bloody stump where the hand once was."

Jack's breathing sharpened, and he tried to move, only to find his feet rooted. The Void swirled and howled.

"No," he growled, staring up at that smirking boy, that _devil_. "You cannot … I only wanted to save them, and I did! I do not want this! Truly I do not!"

"Is this really worth bleating over?" The Outsider looked annoyed, but only mildly so. "Don't you realize – you can do anything, now. What can stop you? What can sway you? The Overseers already hunt through the streets, they already prepare Oleg for trial and execution. There is so much you can do with that mark." The Outsider frowned. "Or … you can throw it all away. But not with my help. I have given you the key to all doors, both physical and mental. It has been so long since a human has accepted my blessing … and you are the first overseer to ever do so."

"No." Jack shook his head. "No."

"Seek my shrines. Seek my runes. Unlock your fullest potential, become as illusive as the shadows you once hunted." The Outsider spread his arms wide. "Or don't. Become a cripple, or a simple thug. Die in some gutter, to be picked at by urchins. You are freer than any man in the Empire, perhaps the galaxy … and I will not take that from you." The Outsider folded his arms. "Goodbye, Jack."

"No, wait!" Jack reached out, but already the Outsider was gone, the purple fading. Soon he stood once more in the dusty basement, facing that hideous shrine, a rune clutched in his hand. A polite cough sounded behind him, and Jack closed his eyes, jaw clenched, hard tears erupting from his exhausted eyes.

"Did he speak to you?" The man asked, sounding excited, far more excited about heresy than anyone had any right to be. "What did he say?"

Jack took in one long breath. _Oleg. Oleg freed me. He did me this … kindness. And I know where they will hold him._ Jack stared at the mark on his hand, clenched his fist. It glowed with tremendous untapped power. Jack grinned a hard grin. _I can do anything … might as well do some good._

"He said we have work to do."

* * *

 **DISHONORED**


	2. Roving Feet

Desolas could not smell the blood from here, at the CIC. Only the panic. Officers and lesser crewmen walked between computers and instruments at a hurried pace, their voices hushed and their tread light against the polished wood of the bridge. The planet's hologram gleamed in the center of the CIC, displaying for the most part still oceans and the occasional storm on the planet below. It appeared sparsely inhabited, only a faint glow emerging from distant coastlines, only the occasional streak of light from some foreign cargo ship crossing a foreboding sea.

Traffic from the planet now also grew minimal. The final shuttles began their hurried retreat from the planet surface, from the sole source of the great lights from this cursed civilization they had been tasked to destroy. Crewmen looked out of the viewports with indiscernible expressions, arms often crossed, occasionally muttering some scrap of scripture. The Third Commandment could be heard more than once.

And of course, there were the asari, their vessels resplendent and perplexing as always. The graphs indicated a large amount of radio traffic between their ships and the planet surface, but none of it made sense to Desolas. Even less sense could be made of the reports below.

"The evacuations are complete, General." Desolas leered out the viewport again as the boatswain made her final report. "Casualty estimates still unknown, however we appear to have inflicted grievously damaged the colony's ability to defend itself. The Spawn's dead stack the streets."

 _As do ours._ Desolas's fingers tightened on the railing he leaned against above the CIC. The planet hologram still spun slightly, a dozen pink vessels now floating serenely in its orbit. _Most of the Spawn defenders are dead … but the asari are still protection enough._

Desolas had few illusions about his options at this point. No turian in his right mind would send his marines against asari sword-sisters, many of whom had honed the twin craft of blade and biotic for two decades at the least. And while asari vessels would be no match for any guns carried by the Ecclesiarchy's battle fleets, the diplomatic fallout would be beyond Desolas's feeble scope to contemplate.

So there was nothing else for it, really. Until the Ecclesiarch either backed down (unlikely) or dispatched dreadnoughts (depressingly likely) he would have to tread water and reflect on his sins. _As well as the Third Commandment._ It was doubtful this would provide any immediate assistance or psychological relief.

"Hail the leading asari ship," called out Desolas, prompting the comm officer to begin turning dials activating haptic interfaces. Rough static filled the CIC, and Desolas adopted the most stern of expressions, recalling the stiff and proud spires of Palaven, the great vanquished sun shining down on all, warming his face with its rays. And of course, he reflected on the Third Commandment. _Do not seek to deter the Outstretched Talons for long, sisters._ The planet hologram changed to a large glowing screen, revealing a scowling blue face.

The asari captain wore a smart white cap with the Republics' symbol, a flowered sabre, stamped upon it in silver. Shoe bore a blue overcoat on her slim frame, gleaming gold buttons arrayed down its medal. A Kahje pearl-handled pistol lay strapped to her chest, and Desolas could just barely make out a similarly decadent sword hilt protruding from an unseen scabbard.

In the early days of first contact, the Ecclesiarch Admiralty had dismissed the asari as vapid dandies, more concerned with facing the opposition in immaculate dress rather than perfect battle lines. Those dismissals died in turian throats as they had witnessed the sword-sisters and justicars in pitched battle. The asari were not fops. They simply did not believe in half measures, not when they had so much time to master themselves. If one must fight well, fight with unmatched ferocity. If one must look their best, spare no expense.

And if one should die, it should be surrounded by enemy corpses.

"Speak quickly." The asari captain betrayed no emotion, her heavy lids making her look even bored.

"I am requesting a status update," said General Desolas, trying not to feel shabby in his general's uniform as the asari captain practically glowed like the sun. "I would know how long you would have us wait here."

"The Council alone can dictate that. And I do not represent them." The asari sniffed. "At present, we are awaiting their true representative. An Inquisitor, I believe."

That stopped Desolas dead. He winced, not bothering to hide his dismay. _That bodes ill for us. That bodes extremely ill._ A few other crewmen, the boatswain and first officer included, exchanged looks of mixed dread and horror.

"Is that truly necessary?" asked Desolas, offering a pained smile. The asari's face did not so much as twitch.

"You will have to ask the Council. Or better yet, their representative once they arrive." The captain sniffed again. "Are we done here?"

"For the time being. Good day." Desolas opened his mouth to order the screen to die, but the asari had already disconnected.

 _So. We have found the race that either birthed or birthed from the Outsider, suffered greater losses than anticipated, and then attracted the Inquisitor._ Desolas nodded to himself. _And there was not a single instance of heresy on that planet that we could find._

"Sir?" The boatswain again, head cocked, listening to some hidden report from her uplifted omnitool. "We have wounded onboard that wish to speak to you. They witnessed some…" She hesitated. "…shivering shadow, who moved at impossible speeds."

 _Third Commandment._ Part of Desolas rejoiced that perhaps there was some justice in their actions after all, some kind of leverage that might be sought from the Inquisitor.

The rest of him, the boy who had grown to a man underneath the shimmering candles of the Church of the Vanquished Sun, cried out in terror.

Desolas could not dwell on this. No sooner had he sucked in a breath to bellow a new order, the planet hologram blinked as a fresh ship appeared, rotund and thick with armor. Desolas stared at the vessel with narrowed eyes.

"Invite the Inquisitor aboard," he said, and the comm officer hastened to comply. "Invite them to my cabin. I will be with them shortly." _And together, perhaps we can come to an accord. The Outsider walks among us. Let us find out where, and end it. Together._

* * *

The blade ran roughshod through Jack's hair, parting the brown strands from his skull in tufts and chunks rather than in smooth snips. The whaler grunted in frustration with every fresh twitch Jack made, which was usually in pain. Specks of blood dripped from the razor into the sink, mixing the brown with the red.

"I have many talents," said the whaler, voice carrying an edge as sharp as his implement. "Negotiation. Rabble-rousing. Bone carving. Racketeering. I can even carry a blade well enough when pressed." Jack grunted as another chunk of hair fell away. "But I was apparently never fated to be a barber. A pity for the both of us. Void damn you, hold still!"

"Who are you, exactly?" Jack gritted his teeth as the whaler got to work on the side of his scalp, the blade scraping against both hair and flesh.

The whaler stopped and sniffed.

"Donnel Udina, of Alba." He resumed his work, the remaining words spoken through gritted teeth borne of intense concentration. "Whaling Union representative. Do not be fooled by the garb – I have never been out to sea or the dark frontier. I simply have to look the part while attending certain company matters."

"You're a criminal." Jack winced again, wondering if the sheer number of bandages he would have to apply to his head would ultimately cover his baldness. "A criminal with an Outsider shrine in his basement."

"You would be surprised, friend, at how a little criminality and a little black magic can go a long way to insuring the continued dominance of her Imperial Majesty … and her most loyal servants." The last of the hair fell away, the sink now covered in soft chunks. Jack turned the faucet on and watched it all vanish with a mixture of strange loss and satisfaction. When he looked to the mirror, he saw a new man staring back, face lined with worry. _It will throw them off for a while._ Jack turned to his companion, who stared Jack up and down with a frown on his face.

"It'll do. You are certain this will throw off your, eh, brothers?"

"We wear the masks even in our quarters." It felt strange to admit that, but it hardly mattered at this stage. "We know each other's faces, but not by heart. Our voices and names play a far greater role."

"Hmph." Udina beckoned Jack to follow, and he did, head feeling so much lighter now that it was bereft of hair. Jack strode to a set of wooden shutters and threw them open with a grunt, letting sunlight stream in from beyond the distant horizon. Udina walked on to the balcony, and Jack joined him.

"Much of the city is smoking." Udina hardly needed to say it. From their perch on the balcony, the previously impressive skyline of Shanxi now resembled nothing so much as a jumble of jagged black teeth, broken and sharp. The oppressive scent of black smog filled the air, and many walked the streets with a wet rag pressed tightly to their faces. Even the Watch had donned a mix of enclosed helmets and plague masks, ushering citizens up the hill to the abbey, where the air was less foul.

"I should be up there." Jack pointed up the hill, to where the sun shone on the abbey's cracked walls. "I should be helping my brothers."

"Well, there is not much point dwelling on that." Udina shrugged. "I should be back in Dunwall, dining on blood sausage and waited on by fifteen servants. But company affairs dictate I remain here in Shanxi, where the Spicer Whales are known to mate, and where the dock authority does not ask terribly many questions."

"Spicer Whales?" Jack licked his lips, still looking up at the abbey, where they held Oleg.

"Eh, there are a few kinds of whales. Some that mate within gas giants, others that tether comets to themselves to attract females. Prettiest comet gets the mate." Jack turned to Udina, eyebrows raised. _They don't teach us this in the abbey._ "Spicer Whales are … well, look to the coast." Udina pointed out to sea. It was difficult to follow his slightly shaking finger, but Jack eventually got the idea. He stared out to sea, hand held over his eyes. After a few moments, he saw a flash, a splash, a flicker of some massive tail.

"Pod of them," said Udina, sounding morose. "Just before the attack hit. A whole choffing pod. These things are choked with trans, practically bleed it. Have to be, to withstand both the ocean's depths and the gas giant's heart. Massive profit margin, even with the specialized ships we must use to hunt them. And now we're all grounded, both from sea and space. Had a captain ready to go and everything."

"Specialized ships?" Jack watched the horizon, thinking.

"Spicer ships. Able to handle sea and space with equal aplomb." Udina now spat the words through gritted teeth. "An absolute fortune to build and maintain, but paid for many times over with every kill. But a whole pod…" Udina stared up at the skies above with impressive hatred. "Void take these beasts! And the whales as well. Opportunity is knocking, and the Duke has barred the door." From his tone, it was clear Udina's grievance with the beasts lied less with their vicious invasion and more of a disruption of his profit margin. Jack did not know whether to find amusement or rage in this.

"You said the docking authority is lax here," said Jack, still looking out to sea. "And there is a ship ready?"

"Thinking of sneaking out on board the _Cerberus?_ " Udina clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You might have that mark and the Outsider's ear, but the whole city is against you. No one moves without the permission of the Duke." Suddenly Udina looked thoughtful, pressing a dirty finger to his mouth. "Although … there might be a way around that. Perhaps."

"I need to get out of this city." Jack stared out to sea, watching the whales. "I need to get Oleg out of this city. I don't want to hurt anyone, especially my brothers … but I'm not offering myself to the abbey." He stared at his gloved hand. _A quick chop, a brand to the face … and then out to the cold. The beasts can wait. Heresy cannot._ He looked Udina up and down. "Are you willing to help me? I don't know what I can return." _An overseer without the Abbey is a piteous thing, bereft of much talent besides bladework._

"You can remember my name when one day the Whalers, or a friend thereof, calls on you." Udina frowned, licked his lips. "You can mention me to the Outsider, maybe. But even aside from that, I can think of all manner of uses for someone with his mark, "assassin" being the least creative. But that can wait." Udina looked to the coat one last time, then nodded. "Yes, I think I know of someone who can get the Duke's stamp." He paused as Jack's belly let loose a series of pained grumbles. "When did you last eat?"

"Before the attack." Jack had seen plenty of opportunities to swipe the errant apple or pie during his night run across the rooftops, but the Seven Strictures screamed through his mind with every fresh temptation. _Restless Hands. Roving Feet. Rampant Hunger._ No amount of burning from his hand would change that any time soon. "I do not want to beg or impose-"

Udina rolled his eyes and left the balcony, flinging open cupboards and cabinets filled with tinned meat and vegetables. Jack closed the shutter behind him and watched Udina impatiently fire up a greasy oven and produce an equally greasy pan. Soon, an equally greasy smell filled the room as whale meat sizzled in a bed of oil atop the frying pan.

"Eat and change," said Udina, gripping the frying pan by the handle and shifting the meat and oil in place, not letting it sit. "If fighting needs doing, best not to let hunger slow your blade."

There was sense in that, but Jack could not help but feel he was building credit with this man that he would not be able to pay back. The scent rising from the pan was mouth-watering, even more so as Udina retrieved several Pandyssian limes from a small fridge and began sprinkling their juices over the meat. Just over the sound of the sizzling, distant amplified voices echoed over the rooftops. Jack caught a snatch of "By order of her Imperial Majesty…"

"Don't scarf it down. Plenty of time until curfew." Udina slid a ceramic plate loaded with fried whale meat coated in a layer of lime juices. A neat pile of chopped green beans fresh out of a tin lay against the meat pile, looking distinctly less appealing but nevertheless appealing to the hunger crawling within Jack.

"Whaling food," said Jack, accepting a fork and knife with a genuine mutter of thanks.

"It keeps, even when the crew wishes it didn't." Udina folded his arms. He had not taken anything for himself. "Again – not the best barber, not the best cook, either. But if it keeps me alive, it should do the same for you." He marched out of the room after a minute, holding up a finger for Jack to wait. Jack did not have to be told – as long as a plate full of food sat in front of him, he would not be moving an inch. The whale meat tasted thick and smoky in his mouth, the lime adding a tart aftertaste. The tinned vegetables tasted like something someone would scrape off the bottom of a lake bed, shapeless, green, and all too slimy.

Regardless, hunger did not discriminate. Jack did his best to hold back the clatter of knife and fork against plate, but even so the meat disappeared with unhealthy rapidity. By the time Udina returned carrying a folded whaling outfit in his arms, Jack scraped the remnants of his meal together into a corner, smiling ruefully up at his savior.

"Try not to throw up if we end up running from the Watch." Udina dropped the whaler uniform on the table, topping it neatly with the signature mask. "Put this on. I'll wait."

"You don't think the mask might make people suspicious?" asked Jack, immediately realizing his folly as Udina snorted.

"Look at the streets below. Even the children are donning gas masks right now. Going unprotected would be more suspicious." Udina waved off further questions. "I'll be wearing one myself. Meet me at the door once you're done. When we hit the checkpoints, let me do the talking."

After shoveling what was left of his breakfast, lunch, and dinner rolled into one down his throat, Jack picked up the whaling mask and examined it critically. _It hardly stands up to the overseer hardsuits._ Then again, it did not need to. Whaling suits needed only to keep out the cold and the vacuum, not the bullets and blades of heretics. It did not even come with a shield! Jack unclipped his own shield from his belt and swiftly undressed, checking the windows and shutters in the unlikely case someone watched from a nearby rooftop.

The suit fit him surprisingly well, making him suspect it came from some far-off Gristol factory, maybe the Uncle Workshops. _They always were good at making sure their suits fit well._ The shield clipped neatly to the inside of one of the suits' many pockets. It smelled new, like the first Warfare Overseer uniform he had ever been presented. _Which now lies in a gutter somewhere._ He looked down at his discarded clothes, retrieved shamefully from one of Shanxi's many dead, toed it with a fresh blue boot. _Should burn it._ He pulled the whaling mask from the table and slotted it into place on his neck, the suit locks holding it steady. A basic interface lit from inside the mask, assuring Jack of 100% suit integrity. _Good._ After a moment's hesitation, he belted his overseer sabre and scabbard. _Some things I'm not willing to give up yet._

Jack descended the wooden steps with bundle of clothes in hand, feeling like a new man and not entirely for the better. Udina waited at the door with his own mask held under one arm, nose wrinkling at Jack's approach. Jack, for his part, turned left at the bottom of the staircase and neatly dropped the oily and blood-soaked rags he had previously worn into the fire, which flared. Then he turned to Udina.

"Might be best to lose the sword," said Udina, gesturing to the dull yellow hilt of Jack's sabre. "I have a spare."

"No." Jack patted the hilt. "I found it off one of the dead."

Udina paused, nodded slowly. Then he opened the door, the bright light streaming through on a brand new day.

The city did not sleep following the battle. It bellowed and roared like the wounded beast it was, smoke spraying from its shattered buildings like life blood, discoloring everything it touched. The Bottle District in fact seemed to be one of the more peaceful areas in the city, even if its silence was mostly the silence of the dead. As they passed its smoke-blackened cobblestones in favor of the still shining marble of the Legal District, a great cacophony of voices carried over the wind of salt and smoke.

A great crowd of people, commoners and noble, working men and those of leisure, raised their fists in protest before the chief justice's house. A great screen fixed to a thick iron post blazed from above, displaying the taciturn visage of Shanxi's guard captain, his Watch uniform streaked with blood both blue and red.

"By order of her Imperial Majesty, Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin II, a curfew has been placed on Shanxi. All citizens must remain indoors past sundown for the safety of themselves and the colony. The Watch is authorized to execute violators on sight. Shanxi will be on lockdown until further notice. No exceptions."

"Justice!" boomed the voices. "Justice for Shanxi!"

"You can't keep us here!" screamed a woman from the front of the house. "We have families!"

Two Royal Marines bearing repeater rifles flanked against their broad shoulders stood to either side of the entrance, the expression under their metal helmets dour and threatening. Despite vastly outnumbering the two red-clad marines, the crowd kept a healthy distance from the glaring soldiers, all too familiar with how quickly and efficiently repeater rifles would disperse unshielded crowds.

Jack and Udina skirted the edges, Jack with his head down, Udina with his head high. Watch officers patrolled the edges of the protest, apparently awaiting backup, hands resting on the hilts of their blades, pistols loosened in their holsters. They paid no mind to the two quiet whalers, their eyes remaining fixed on the roiling crowd.

"Rig up some atmo-cannons and have done with it!" roared a large man in a bloodstained jerkin, lifting a hand with a bandaged stump where his ring finger should have been. "Blow those choffers out of the sky before they come back!"

"Justice for the Bottle District!" called out another. "The dead are stacked up in piles ten feet high! Where were you when the beasts landed? Guarding some noble with soiled pantaloons?"

"There's going to be riots tonight," muttered Udina as they reached the other side of the crowd and made for the checkpoint to the Government District, its gleaming blue arch manned by two more Royal Marines, who watched their approach without any expression. "One idiot will stay up past curfew and get shot. Then others will join in. It's how it always happens. Just one person to make the push. One person with a family, some friends."

Jack nodded, hoping that would not be the case. A wall of light crackled before them, the electricity arcing between blue pillars. Watchmen worked the ground, watching the two whalers with folded arms and raised eyebrows, many of their blue uniforms looking rankled and stained with Void knew what. _At least they are not overseers._

"That you Donnel, you old scallywag?" An officer with a thick mustache and sideburns stepped from beyond the wall of light, a small grin playing at his lips. "You're the only whaler I can think of that would walk up here all bold-like."

"It's me." Udina lifted a hand and stopped Jack well short of the wall of light, which crackled and spat sparks as he watched. "Tell our lady that I have someone of great interest to see her. Great enough to risk the streets, even." He fumbled through his own pockets, produced a small battered carton gleaming with gold leaf and handed it to the officer. "Here. I know you've all been up all night. We'll wait here."

"Heh." The officer slid the carton under his coat and whistled. A lower watchman jogged from beyond the wall of light, cap askew. He stopped and saluted, hand quivering at his forehead. "Go and send word up to the lady. You know the one. Say it's Udina. Hop to it!" The lower watchman departed without a word, retreating again beyond the wall of light.

"Who's this guy?" asked the officer, looking Jack up and down and making his blood freeze despite being well covered. "Can't fault you for wearing the masks, but don't you go sneaking up on people dressed like that. Scare the daylights out of 'em."

"New recruit," said Udina without hesitation. "Got to Shanxi at a bad time and he's all nervous, but he's got the stones to sign up against Spicer Whales. Thought I'd show him the city." Udina leaned in to the officer, who leaned in and put an ear close to Udina's face. Jack could not quite hear what was said, but he thought it included, "terrible embarrassment," and "son of some noble." His face reddened underneath the whaler mask.

"You going to join us for whiskey and cigars later?" asked the officer, lightly patting the bulge in his coat, which rattled expensively. "They're going to rotate us at six. If you can get to the guard house past the curfew, might give you a reason to smile. Not a lot of good happening around here right now."

"I'm not sure what my schedule will look like, but I'll bear it in mind." Udina inclined his head. The lower watchman jogged out from beyond the wall again, face red. "At any rate, make sure you enjoy yourselves."

"She said to let 'em on through, sir!" said the lower watchman, snapping another salute. The officer grinned and whistled again, waving up to the Royal Marines.

"Oi! Tinheads! Unplug the wall for a second, let these two on through. Got important business to take care of." The officer motioned for Jack and Udina to follow while the soldiers in red grumbled and hauled a canister out of its slot. The wall beeped twice in protest, the sparks dying.

"Marines," said the officer, looking back at the two of them with a grin. "They'll do their job aright, but never with good grace when it's a Watchman in charge of 'em. And don't piss 'em off, whatever you do. They dispersed a crowd in Pickering Square earlier today – someone threw a rock at the Duke's car."

"How many casualties?" asked Jack, face ashen beneath the mask.

"Eh, they're still cleaning up the body parts. But you ask me, with those beasts waitin' up there? Too many, regardless of the number." The officer stopped once they were past the wall, the relatively clean buildings of the Government District now dominating their left and right. "And ah, since that one overseer kept askin', keep an eye out for this one guy. Jack, was it?" He turned to the lower watchman for confirmation, and the man stammered out an affirmative. "Dark hair, sorta slim. Gristol bloke. Apparently he's a rogue overseer." The officer shrugged. "Just saying. Keep your eyes peeled."

"Of course." Udina shook the officer's hand, and the man winked at Jack as he turned away. "Good day, Captain."

"Alright you lazy slugs! Lights back on, keep eyes on that crowd!" bellowed the Captain, waving a well-manicured hand. "Heard tell the Empress is coming here personal, means this District has to stay damn well secure!"

"You know a lot of people on the Watch?" asked Jack, voice hushed when perhaps it shouldn't be. Udina shrugged.

"I know a lot of people, period. But all Whaler Guild representatives should keep up to date with the birthdays of each Watch captain in their city."

"Was it his?" Jack took a quick look round to the Watch Captain, who had now hooked his thumbs in his coat pockets and scowled at passersby beyond the reactivated Wall of Light.

"No, he just likes whiskey and cigars." Udina sniffed under his mask. "Most Watchmen do, come to think of it. This way."

They left the gleaming cobblestones of the Government District beyond for a jaunt down a back alley. Three well-dressed children watched them pass from in front of an overturned dumpster, a stack of rocks lying in front of the. The air smelt faintly of ozone, and the hair stood up at the back of Jack's neck.

"Mister!" called out the middle one, a light-haired lass with a strange smile over her face. Udina sighed and stopped, turning to face them. "One coin to see a trick?"

"Bad luck to refuse," said Udina, and Jack could not tell if he was serious. Udina produced a small pouch and jerked a coin into his palm. He flipped it to the child, who caught it and bit it, likely without knowing why. Then she grinned and kneeled in front of the pile.

"Watch this!" The other two stood over her, urging the child on. With a look of concentration and mild constipation, the child lifted a twitching hand over the rocks, which wobbled. Then, the top one began to glow blue, lifting ever so slightly into the air. Jack swore and crossed his arms at this witchcraft, before lowering them in mild embarrassment. He thought he heard Udina titter. _I am well past the stage where I can criticize others for witchcraft._ Still, he stared. _Outsider's blood, what is this?_

"Do another one," urged a boy on the girl's left, face smudged with dirt. The girl, eyes shut and biting her lip, gave a jerky nod. The rock below the floating stone lifted as well, and the girl began to heave with desperate breaths.

"Okay," she said, letting out a sigh. The two rocks fell. She stared up at the two adults, face flushed, massaging her hand. "Neat trick, huh?"

"Don't do it in front of any overseers," said Jack sharply, even though truthfully he did not know from where this power came. There were no marks on the child's hands. "But … yes. Very neat."

Udina bade Jack follow, and the two of them continued down the alley, the other two boys trying to coerce the girl into doing it again. Udina did not turn to look at Jack, but he did begin to speak in a low tone.

"I hear tell of glowing blue whales that fling comets as a child would fling stones, all without ever touching them," he said, actually sounding a bit disturbed. "Sometimes you'll find whale meat glowing a soft azure, tasting faintly of spice. I always tell my whalers to throw that meat out, but you never know. I hear strange things of people exposed to the blue meat, powers not borne of the Outsider." Udina laughed lightly. "Perhaps you're not as special as we think."

"That brings small comfort." Jack clutched his own hand, thinking. "Times are changing."

"Always good for profits, assuming you can improvise." Udina stopped by a small hatch and knocked on it three times with his boot. "She might be waiting already. She always comes running when there's excitement afoot. And her father is terrible about keeping track of her."

"Who is this, exactly?" Jack's neck tingled. Another shrine lay close by. _How many lay hidden through the city? How many turn away from the Abbey's teaching in favor of seeking the Outsider's blessing? This is the Government District, nowhere should be as pious._

The hatch opened, and gloved hands beckoned them inside. Udina removed his whaler mask with a smirk, and Jack did the same. They went down the ladder, one at a time, the hatch falling with a clang after they were inside.

"Can this one be trusted?" A man with noble bearing and attire, dressed in a smart blue suit and flanked by a single scowling watch officer. "I do not know his face."

"But you will know my mark." Jack clenched his fist and let the mark flare. It glowed orange underneath his glove, and the noble took a shocked step backward, hands raised to his face. Jack glanced to the soft purple glow beyond the noble, the jagged metal twisted into something resembling shape and beauty. "This is my place, isn't it?"

"So the Outsider has chosen someone," breathed the noble. "Oh, my."

"Is that who you brought to see me?" A woman's voice, imperious and cold. The noble shrunk back as a small figure rose from before the shrine, something clutched in her hands. She placed the object back in its resting place before turning, an inquisitive look playing across her sharp features. Jack knew her face. _The Duke's daughter. Truly, the Abbey has failed this colony._

She could not have been more than fifteen, tall enough for her age, but still standing far short of any of the actual adults in the room. She had the Tyvian look, pale of skin but dark of hair, slight and pinched, always serious and glum of face. _Lady Miranda Lawson. And the word around town is that you are always locked in a tower._

"Who are you?" she asked with a quickness, voice snapping like a trap. "Who did he choose?"

"Jack Harper, my lady." Jack swept into a low bow, feeling that even in such circumstances, certain practices should still be observed. "Formerly of the Abbey. I … accepted this mark to save my Brothers. Now they hunt for me in the streets."

"What happened to your hair? Never mind. Daft question. Smart move." Miranda strode up to Jack, looking him up and down as if assessing him for something. "An overseer? Why would he choose an overseer?"

"Why does the Outsider do anything?" asked Udina, spreading his arms wide. "Whatever it takes to while away a mindless eternity. My lady."

"Udina." Miranda looked more amused than anything at his presence. "You lucked out, it seems. Finally a tool worthy of your ambitions."

"I am no one's tool." The words came out with more force than Jack intended. _But it is true. Once I worked the will of the Abbey. But no longer. And I will certainly not work the will of the Outsider._

"Just what you are remains to be seen." Miranda gestured to the shrine, expression hard. "Go on, then. I've knelt there for hours, waiting, hoping to hear something. Yet all I hear is the water running through the pipes. Show us … something."

Jack cocked his head and clenched his fist. The air turned lifeless and gray. He looked around. The noble remained frozen, hand stroking a hairless chin. Udina smiled a savage grin, staring at Jack as if he knew what he was about to do. The officer had turned away to pick his nose. And Miranda, Miranda wore a hungry look, the same look Jack had seen men and women wear at the Fugue Feast; a desire for something normally unattainable and utterly forbidden.

Jack released his grip and appeared before the shrine in a puff of wind, prompting a small shriek from the noble. Miranda only joined him at his side, squeezed his arm.

"Put in a good word for me. He has to have been listening." Miranda took a step back, the hunger turning to bitter longing. The rune sung from atop the shrine, glowing faintly in the dim light of the basement. The shadows clung to the purple walls, silent spectators to Jack's display. His gloved fist closed over the rune, which began to burn. The purple spread, covering all, leaving only silence, a wisp of smoke. Jack's breath caught in his throat.

"We really are becoming familiar now, aren't we?" The Outsider appeared in a whisper of distant whale song, eyes black and full of emptiness. "Two shrines in the space of a day? Within the colony you pledged to protect from me? Truly this is a sad day for the Abbey."

"Spare me your mockery." Jack clutched the rune tightly. "It brings me no pleasure to see these shrines."

"Yet here you are, regardless." The Outsider stroked his chin. "I suppose I can provide some commentary. You _are_ a strange one, you know that? You recite the Seven Strictures while my mark adorns your hand. Worse still, you _follow_ these Strictures. All too many of your former brothers cannot even manage that."

"Enough!" Jack clenched his jaw. "I'm sure this is all very amusing-"

"Mildly. It seems rather likely to come to a close soon." The Outsider folded his arms. "Lady Miranda Lawson. So rebellious, so sad. Sole daughter of a corrupt Duke. He visited my shrines in his own time, pleaded desperately for knowledge I do not even possess, not that I would have provided it if I did. His interests run less to the political, more to the scientific; the Kirin Jindosh or Anton Sokolov of your times." The Outsider's lips curled into a smirk. "They were fools as well. But Duke Henry Lawson is perhaps the most tedious of the three."

"As for Miranda – she remained tethered to the Duke's ambitions. She's grown up beautiful and educated, a hopeful match for your Empress's own son. But she has no intention of ever becoming someone else's bride. She has inherited her father's hunger, but directed it to pursuit of her personal freedoms instead of monstrous scientific experiments." The Outsider smiled. "She wants what you have. She wants to be special, and free. She would do anything for that. Now feel my rune."

Jack looked down at the rune, which burned with the mark and faded, filling Jack with a strange kind of giddiness, as if he could leap to the stars. The rune now sat in his palm, a useless chunk of carved whale bone and smoldering wire, whatever strength it once possessed utterly spent.

"Your powers stretch beyond mere manipulation of time and space. Can you feel those secrets, rattling in your mind?"

Jack could. They burned, two runes etched into his brain like pictographs on a rock. It felt warm, flooding his body with a strange kind of strength. His hand twitched, the mark flaring.

"You can share your gifts, to a certain extent." The Outsider waved a careless hand. "I have no interest in granting Miranda her freedom with my mark – the outcomes are all too unsatisfying. But … if she were tethered to you? Perhaps it might give you a chance. It will not diminish your own powers. And it will grant you an ally who can assist in the harder work."

The Outsider lowered his head, brow furrowed.

"Decide quickly. You're running out of time. Soon a greater presence than you will stalk these streets, and each invocation of my gift will draw him nearer. You had best have begun your exodus by nightfall, or I see clearly how this will end: two halves of a false whaler, guts strewn between them, his blood laying thick against the blades of an alien Inquisitor."

"I don't understand any of that." Jack tossed the rune aside. It fell away and out of sight, cast into the Void. The Outsider gave an airy wave of the hand.

"You will soon enough. When the sun falls."

Jack gasped, his mind snapping back into his body. A small crowd of people gathered behind him, murmuring questions, but none were so bold as to speak up. Only Miranda stared up at Jack without fear, a single eyebrow arched overhead.

Jack stared at his hand, thinking. _It should be her choice, if she wants this. That's more than I had, really._

"Miranda – my lady." Jack winced, wondering if this were really the best course of action. _Nightfall, he said. Did he mean it? The Abbey teaches that he lies with every false breath … but they also claim he can change his shape._ "You want to be free."

"Yes." Miranda's expression did not change. It remained hungry, watchful.

"I can grant you freedom. With my mark." It burned now, and Jack could feel it reaching out for this youth, the Void whispering the question before he himself asked it. Jack took a hesitant step forward, left hand outstretched. Miranda lifted her own hesitantly, as if somehow inherently realizing what Jack was about to do. "Can you fight?"

"I have been trained. You do not need to ask any further," she said, eyes narrowing, as if bracing for pain. "Do it, and I can help you escape this colony." She kneeled, head bowed, arm still lifted. Jack clutched her hand with his own shaking fingers.

Ribbons of gold and purple ran from Jack's glowing mark, tracing faint lines against Miranda's alabaster skin. She trembled, and Jack heard her take a sharp breath as if in pain. The lines coursed across her flesh, leaving faint valleys of black, a faint outline of what Jack himself bore. Then, the ribbons faded. The traces remained. Miranda rose, rubbing her wrist, expressionless.

"I suppose we have work to do."

* * *

The sick bay smelt rank with blood. The eyes of wounded rolled in desperation, awaiting the skilled and certain hands of the ship chirurgeons, who strode between blue-stained beds with grim purpose, gleaming white phantoms whose hands always dripped with either bodily fluids or the remnants of a fresh coat of cleansing water.

Desolas walked between the beds as well. He trod between them with a censer lifted, intoning the old words passed down from sailor to sailor, from father to son. The Ecclesiarchy's marines craned their heads up from feather-stuffed pillows at his passing, mouths open either in awe or imitation. The smell of spice followed Desolas, masking the heady stench of exposed guts and spilling tissue. Chirurgeons crossed their arms at his passing, sometimes pausing mid cut to match Desolas's chant.

 _Palaven's sun, blazing and broken, grant us your light and your heat. Mend these wounds and shield our minds, expose all lies and deceit!_

So many rows, too many rows of sodden beds and glass-eyed wounded. The Outsider-Spawn below provided panicked but stiff resistance, and all of Desolas's preparations against sorcery had been for naught … barring one incidence. That bed he saved for last.

The marine watched Desolas approach with eyes pinched in pain, hand lightly tracing the patched hole in his side. His bedsheets at least seemed clean, and as Desolas made his final circuit among the wounded, the marine joined in, his words rasping and slightly slurred. Desolas concluded his work, lowering the censer to his side and allowing his aching arm some blessed relief at last.

"The sun lies vanquished and broken," said Desolas, grim of face and apologetic of tone.

"Many others filled the night sky," coughed the marine, wincing in pain and feeling his side with increasing urgency and discomfort. "I saw him. The servant of the Outsider."

"That is why we are speaking." Desolas did not bother to pretend otherwise. Serjeants and generals rarely had meaningful topics to converse on, and there were many others more wounded than he. "Tell me what you saw. In detail." _The more comprehensive my report, the more easily I may dance that fragile line between the Ecclesiarch's will and the Council's displeasure._

"First squad blew the doors open to their fortress," said the serjeant, nose wrinkling at the memory of it. "The dragoon went with them, cannon and blade readied. They marched through smoke, bellowing the Third Commandment and cutting down at least one Spawn. Then … we saw him."

"He moved at first as a shivering blur, carrying a sliver of sharp starlight." The serjeant's eyes shut. "He cut apart the first squad, flickering in and out of reality, shifting from flank to flank as if he were made of shadow rather than flesh. The dragoon fell at a few well-placed blows, and the heretic turned to the steps where the second squad stood."

"Did the others assist him?" asked Desolas. "The other Spawn? How did they react to this shivering swordsman?"

"They drove us off in a hail of gunfire and steel," said the serjeant. "But … it was the strangest thing. As I fell back with the Palvanus, I saw one of the masked warriors force the heretic to his knees and lay a blade against his throat." The serjeant grimaced and removed his hand from his wound. "I wanted to remain, but my wound and the fear … it was too much. The Palvanus carried me back to the nearest evac point and I was glad for it."

"Interesting." Desolas's heart thudded dully. _Too interesting. The beat quickens as the dance grows more complex._ "May your wounds knit well, Serjeant. Thank you for your intelligence." Desolas grimaced, felt the need to share his pain. "Wish me well. I go now to the Inquisitor."

"They sent one already?" The serjeant gaped, his wound temporarily forgotten. "I thought it was just the asari! Sir … do you know who they sent?"

"Probably a salarian. It usually is." Desolas took in a heavy breath, feeling as if he walked a tightrope between ships battling a stormy sea. _The wind howls and the ships buck …_ Desolas crossed his arms and bowed, censer dangling loosely from one finger by its chain. "Heal well, my friend."

In a way, visiting the infirmary had been both penance and a way of delaying the inevitable. Inquisitors were far cries from the antiquated Spectres that preceded them – their will and actions were tightly leashed to the Council, meaning one's presence was of great import to whoever was nearby. _And it means the Council's gaze is fixed on this spot._ Normally the Citadel and its creatures were slow beasts to react to any change or event. Not this time. _Which bodes extremely ill for this expedition. The dance goes on, spin and leap…_

Desolas had given the Inquisitor the run of his cabin while he completed his rounds, such as they were. It was a perfunctory and somewhat desperate gesture, one that would doubtless do him only the slightest of favors when it came time to explain himself. When he exited the sick bay, two Palvanus followed his path, his "honor guard." Desolas glanced back at the steely gray masks and handed off the censer to one, wondering all the while if they would listen outside the door for their report to the Ecclesiarch, or instead simply interrogate him in person afterwards. Desolas hoped for the latter. That would at least indicate trust.

Crewmen fled at the approach of the three of them, their heavy boots ringing against the steel. Sailors pressed themselves up as close to steam-filled pipes and funnels as they were able and saluted or bowed as space allowed. The only exception was a single engineer carrying two canisters of trans, one in each hand – Desolas and the Palvanus instead allowed him passage, the heat of the ship warming their backs as he heaved his load past. Generals and the Faithful might command the respect and fear of sailors, but whale oil bowed to no one once angered.

The ship's crew stood partially depleted by the bloody excursion to the planet below, yet Desolas had never felt the vessel so cramped. The steaming pipes worming their way through the interiors made of mixed wood and steel, the sailors exchanging hushed rumors and overloud jokes, the steady climb up polished steps towards the inevitable – it made Desolas feel as if a great weight clamped down on his trunk, pressed chest and back together to turn his insides to stew. In a sense, it was a relief to finally make it to the captain's cabin, the door gleaming with the embossed gold text of the Five Commandments. The Palvanus waited patiently behind.

"The Inquisitors have the same ultimate goal as the Faithful," said Desolas, reminding the two of them without turning to see their reaction. "We must respect the Inquisitor's wishes. They act with all races in mind, not simply our own."

"The Third Commandment, brother," replied one of them, sending a chill down Desolas's back. _This is going to get unpleasant._

Desolas tapped the code into the door lock. It slid open on oiled hinges, not so much as a whisper. Desolas crossed the threshold without fully registering it in his head, instead bracing himself for what came next. Sure enough, a salarian dressed in black skintight armor sat at his desk, staring over it without any discernible expression. A massive shape loomed to the left, four-legged and likewise clad in black metal, its own protection far bulkier. Four folded lumps clung to the creature's back, and it glared at Desolas through red glass eyes. _An elcor. Rarely do I see one so up close._ Desolas tried to ignore the sensation of insects crawling up and down his back while his heart sped up again. He eyed the folded weapons momentarily before collecting himself once more.

"Forgive my delay, Inquisitor," said Desolas, bowing to the salarian, who immediately opened an omni-scroll and began typing with his long thin fingers. "I needed the report of one who had seen the heresy of these beings firsthand. I assure you-"

"Chilly: you have made another dangerous assumption, General." Desolas winced, head swiveling to the elcor, who took a step forward with a disconcertingly loud clank. "I am Inquisitor Farrow. You speak to my scribe, Lael, who will record our meeting here for the Council's benefit." The elcor took a dangerous pause while Lael typed furiously. "Imperious: Lael, do me a service and do not include the translated emotion within the script. It will not be necessary."

Lael complied, the omni-scroll flashing with fresh deletions. The sudden halt to the beeping as the salarian caught up made the silence deepen to dangerous levels.

"Forgive me, Inquisitor," said Desolas, trying to salvage the situation with the deepest bow his nerves could allow. "I have only met two Inquisitors in my life, and both were salarian. It is an honor to have you here."

"Dismissive: spare the empty words, General." The elcor's voice boomed far deeper than any other's that Desolas had heard before, its speech both amplified and slightly distorted by the ebony armor it wore. "The Ecclesiarchy has acted without thought or the blessing of the Council. I am here to conduct damage control." The elcor lowered its head, bringing the red eyes level to Desolas. "With great implication: the Council is the control. I am the damage. You will heed my words as if the Council itself stood before you. Understood?"

"Understood," replied Desolas, standing stiff and at attention, the Five Commandments blazing in his mind. _Stone Mind. Linked Arms. Outstretched Talons. Downcast Eyes. Duty Ascendant._ The last echoed each time he thought it.

"With mild empathy: I am aware you walk a knife's edge between honoring the wishes of your Ecclesiarch and managing the fallout from the Council, General. That is why I will present the case for a complete and total cessation of all hostilities between your people, and theirs. It is in the Ecclesiarchy's best interest."

Desolas laughed at this, but there was no humor in it. The salarian looked up from his omni-scroll, eyes narrowed. The fingers danced on.

"We finally found the race that either begat the devil that plagues us or sprang from his ethereal loins, and already you want us to sue for peace." Desolas shook his head. "Yes, I am torn between duties here, Inquisitor, but I side with the Ecclesiarch in this matter, particularly given that these Spawn attacked first. No good can come with associating with such Void-swollen beings, and we have evidence of at least one having been marked by the Outsider on the planet below." Desolas smiled as the elcor turned to the scribe in slight surprise, obviously taken aback. "Yes. A shivering shadow, time and space gripped with one hand, a blade in the I spoke of heresy before, Inquisitor, do you think I meant their visage alone?"

"Gravely: if what you say is true, then diplomatic efforts must be accelerated." Harrow paused, parts of his suit whirring. Desolas starred at the weapon folds, trying not to recount the handful of times he had seen elcor in action, the hidden twin blades and cannons emerging to cut apart pirates with dizzying brutality, bellowing farmers gathering a grisly harvest … the elcor merely leered on, heedless of Desolas's attempts to block out the images. "Boldly: nevertheless, I must persist. All hostilities must cease."

"Explanatory: this space borders both the Terminus and Hegemony," said the Inquisitor, and Desolas resisted the urge to fold his arms. _Ascendant Duty. Ascendant Duty._ "Since their forced exodus, the batarians have ached to form this Void Confederacy of theirs, sending envoys to both the Terminus and hanar, extolling the virtues of free trade and military alliance."

"I am aware of this." Desolas tried to control his impatience. "What relevance does it have to the matter at hand?"

"Irritated: your attack here may have inadvertently pushed these peoples, these "humans" into the batarians' Void Confederacy," said the Inquisitor, to a distinct lack of reaction from Desolas. "Increasingly annoyed: Think on it. A link between the Terminus and Hegemony, more military ships, more whaling routes, and above all, the greatest insult to all allied peoples against the Outsider: allegiance to the species wearing his face." The elcor shuffled in place, the feet falling like hammer blows.

"You say this under the assumption we will not exterminate them first." Desolas kept his gaze level, trying not to dwell on the terrible implication of his words. "That is the Ecclesiarch's will, you understand."

"Bluntly: the Ecclesiarch courts destruction if that is the case." Desolas growled at this, ceased suddenly by a wild urge to throw something. The hiss from the Inquisitor's weapons, the slight unfurling of glinting steel, quieted his madness. "Still blunt: the Asari Republics remains unconvinced of the Outsider's unwavering supremacy. Their translators uncover evidence of an "Abbey of the Everyman," comparable to your Palvanus or the salarians' Mundane Faith." Lael nodded in agreement, the omni-scroll faintly beeping. "With less empathy this time: I understand your position, General. Think of the Primarch and the secular elements of your Ecclesiarchy. Think beyond the will of Ecclesiarch Primus. Ascendant Duty. What is best for your people?"

Desolas did not answer, instead clasping his hands behind his back and waiting patiently for this elcor to dictate what was best for his people. He did not have to wait for long.

"Greatly annoyed: it is best that your people do not face a united Void Confederacy. It is best that your people do not spark a galactic war. It is best that your people remain a part of the Council."

"And what of the Outsider?" asked Desolas, throat feeling stiff as he spoke the infernal being's name. "Has the Council forgotten Warlord Kredak, whose Void-infused horde cut a still-unhealed swath through Council space? Do they take the report of heresy below seriously?"

"With barely-controlled rage: you tread on dangerous ground, General." Desolas still maintained his footing as the elcor took a threatening step forward, shaking the cabin, making the desk bounce. Lael glanced up, still expressionless, the text flying by on his omni-scroll even as he looked away from it. "We will be forever thankful for the Ecclesiarchy's assistance in the Rebellions, and value their continuing contributions in maintaining the peace hence. But do not ever imply we have forgotten Kredak's heresy." A bellow not unlike a bull whale's call issued from the Inquisitor, making Desolas jump. "Do not. Ever."

"Very well. I was out of line." Desolas acknowledged this with a genuine tone and a tip of his head. "But … expect the same sentiments from the Ecclesiarch and the Faithful, only uttered with greater fervency and anger. The Third Commandment, Inquisitor. You do not live and breathe it as we do."

"Murderously: apology accepted." The elcor still glared at Desolas, a sliver of metal visible through an armor flap, full of dangerous promise. "With forced courtesy: the Ecclesiarchy will receive reparations for the damage sustained to _Dutiful Hands_ and its crew. With luck, these humans will have a worthwhile explanation. But all hostilities will cease. The Hegemony and Terminus cannot be allowed another ally."

"And the heretic?" asked Desolas, folding his arms now, hoping he had sufficiently tread the line between the Ecclesiarch's attack varren and the Council's loyal yes-man.

Inquisitor Harrow paused, threatening posture temporarily discarded. Lael finished the last few words and stared at the elcor with a cocked head, clearly uncertain as to what his companions' next move would be. Despite himself, General Desolas began to hold his breath. After a lengthy period of heavy silence, the elcor finally nodded, his armored form glinting in the cabin's light.

"I will handle the heretic personally."

* * *

Lanterns across the city began to flare. The bulk of the protestors returned to their homes, temporarily cowed by the threat of unrestrained force. Royal Marines now patrolled alongside the Watch, their numbers bolstered by a recent redeployment from the nearby Strangeport, further down the coast. Strange lights played in the sky, stars that moved back and forth before vanishing suddenly, alien vessels hard at strange work. Down below, Jack surveyed the kit Udina had hastily provided, the dim glow of the shrine forcing him to strain his eyes.

"You are certain you don't want my mark?" asked Jack, hesitantly picking up the strange green pellet Udina had assured him was a sleep dart. Udina shook his head, his own hunger far less than Miranda's.

"It is tempting, far more tempting than I will admit. But I do enough business with overseers to know better." Udina flexed his hands, stared at the back of them. "My own work requires far less teleportation and far more cries of, "This is an outrage!" I would rather not compromise that. If you escape and remember my name fondly … that will be more than enough payment for me."

Jack slotted the five green pellets against his left wrist, hoping the omni-bow software had been installed correctly. Udina's endorsement of the weapon had not been terribly reassuring, but Jack saw few other means that would allow him to assault the Abbey without taking the lives of his brothers. _Unless they wear thick armor._ He resisted the urge to inquire as to the cost of this equipment.

Three swift raps came at the hatch, and Udina hastened to open it, expression softening as he saw who it was. Miranda Lawson descended, a large pack strapped to her pack. She produced a stamped piece of paper from her coat.

"Amazing what you can do when you can flit from place to place with a thought … and you know all of the ducal palace's codes." Jack took the paper and examined it. He handed it to Udina, who nodded.

"We might actually get those damn whales after all," he said thoughtfully, holding the paper up to the light and smiling. "Yes, that will get a ship clear of the port, but I wouldn't chance taking off. I will bring this to my captain. I'm sure she will be thrilled to see it."

"Aren't you worried about the curfew?" asked Miranda, glancing back up the hatch.

"Not especially. Not when most of the whiskey and cigars in this city can be traced back to me." Udina offered a bow. "If you ask me, the two of you would be better off leaving without your friend. Better chance at living that way. I'm sure my captain will not thank you for the delay."

"The captain should thank me that she will be leaving at all." Jack clipped the medigel elixirs to his belt, followed by the Sirta solutions Udina had assured him would ease any sorcery he happened to perform. He glanced to Miranda. "You ready?"

"For the last three years now, yes." _We'll see how long that enthusiasm lasts._ Miranda looked capable enough, ignoring her small size, clad in a gray coat and bearing a short blade at her hip. She had covered her hands in fingerless gloves, allowing for a decent grip while also hiding her own little heresy. _How much hard work have those hands seen, girl? How many nights have you spent cold and hungry? Becoming an overseer is long and hard._ But she was young, there was time to learn. And she had magic, now, as well.

"Up the hill then," said Jack with a shiver. All of a sudden, the air seemed to turn cold. He paused to shake Udina's hand warmly. "With luck, I will see you on the road ahead. I will not forget you."

"And that is all I ask." Udina smiled, donned his whaler mask. "I might wave goodbye on the docks, depending on how this plays out. At any rate, may your journeys eventually bring you home, wherever you decide that is. Good luck."

The hatch reopened to a quieter city. The sound of the guard captain and announcer making regular reports and threats still drifted on the sea breeze, but no screams of protest underlined it. The air still smelled of smoke, even through the mask. Jack stood tall in the alley while Udina climbed the ladder and hurried for the docks. Miranda fell into step behind him. _There._ A small blue vent shaft above. He nodded to Miranda and vanished, reappearing atop the reassuringly solid metal. The rooftops went from towering to attainable. After a moment's pause, he found the lip of the closest building and held his breath, releasing it as he appeared atop it. Miranda followed suit below.

"We're not killing anyone, just to make that clear," said Jack, crouched and staring over the curiously smooth roofs beyond. "Sleep darts if you have to. And I know the Tyvian choke hold."

"They won't spare you if they catch us." Miranda's voice sounded muffled; she had pulled a thick red scarf around her face, leaving only the eyes exposed. Her black hair trailed behind her in the gentle but chilly breeze. "If it's life or death, will you choose death?"

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. On the steps of the abbey, he had chosen life. He might do so again.

"No killing," he said again, but could not help but wonder how well that would hold up. "We should be saving our strength for those devils if they come 'round again."

"If you insist." Miranda waited, watching Jack for his next move. Jack stared the short distance up the hill, where the abbey's lights glittered. _They will have their hands full with the refugees, and our numbers were sorely depleted by the attack … still, it will be crowded. It will be difficult._

They blinked from rooftop to rooftop, feet pounding against concrete and steel before vanishing with the wind to reappear at another building's top. The city looked far different from high up above, the streets seeming far smoother and more traversable from where they stood. Guards traveled in tight patrols, only visible through their shoulder mounted flashlights which shone from building to building, only audible through the occasional whistled tune or bark of laughter. From the squares and plazas, the screens droned on about the curfew.

"Udina said this place would explode into a riot tonight." Jack stood at the edge of one roof, glancing over Pickering Square with one hand braced against the chimney. "Glad to say he was wrong."

"Give it time. Parts of the Bottle District are still stacked with bodies." Miranda spoke with a matter-of-factness born of detachment. It made Jack wrinkle his nose. The wind blew on.

The buildings closest to the abbey rank of smoke. Many sat tumbled and broken at the base of the abbey itself; it seemed that many of the turians had vented their considerable rage at the overseers' deflection of their attack on the nearest structures. Few remained unscarred.

Beneath the abbey's intact lights, overseers strode bearing both swords and bowls of soup. A great sea of tents ran across the abbey's courtyard, with nothing save the errant patch of dried blood to mark where battle had once raged. No hounds walked the yard. The Watch too, were absent. _Have their hands full elsewhere._

"No hounds make this easier," said Jack, tears cropping at the corner of his eyes as he said so, the memory of his fallen Valor bringing a stinging bitterness to his throat. "It's dark. They are few in number. Steer clear of the refugees and we should not be seen."

"Where will they be holding him, do you think?" Miranda looked out over the refugees, hands clenched in what might have been anger.

"Interrogation rooms." Didn't take a natural philosopher to figure that one out. "And we won't have long. The Outsider said they would have a trial and an execution, but I wouldn't put it past the abbey to just give him the brand and fling him to the streets."

Miranda chuckled. "You're still going to try and gainsay the Outsider, even after all of this?"

"He can predict our paths. He does not dictate them." Jack scanned the abbey for purchases. A low ridge ran under the second story windows, just enough for a sure pair of feet. "Wait a moment." Jack closed his eyes, his hand burning. He reappeared with his back flat against the wall and window, the edge of his toes dangling over a sizable drop. He began skirting to his left, the chill of the wind and the sheerness of the drop combining to steal the breath from his chest. His veins filled with ice. Miranda moved with a far greater sureness at his side.

"I tried to stop time in the palace." Miranda spoke with a casual nonchalance, but Jack caught a bitterness in her tone as she scooted alongside him. "It did not work."

"I have no control over what you can and cannot do. Be grateful for what gifts you do have. Petition the Outsider if you feel cheated." Jack stopped, a great light appearing over the horizon. A ship, immensely thick and well armored, blazed a path over the sea, bearing directly for the port. To his surprise and shock, green lights went up at the dock. _An alien vessel is landing … and the Duke approved it._ The air grew chillier, yet the wind did not pick up. Two overseers met below, and Jack held up a fist for Miranda to wait.

"David." The name made Jack wince. _We were comrades once, brother. I will not forget it._ "The Watch reports no sign of Jack, although they found discarded overseer robes atop a building at Third. You are certain you cannot predict his movements?"

"Oleg's the one to talk to, if he's still capable of speech." David's voice sounded dull and dead, as if he did not believe the words he was saying. "They may have been conspiring. I merely accompanied him to retrieve the Shepard boy. I would be surprised if he has not fled the city on foot."

"He would not get far without help." The other overseer (Barnes, perhaps?) sounded impatient. "I hear tell we are receiving some help from above. No idea what kind."

"If it's one of those beasts that attacked us, I'd rather lend them a bullet than a hand, even if they are dedicated to rooting out heresy." David spoke through gritted teeth. "The Outsider did not burn this city."

"Yes, well, let us attend our duties for the nonce, brother." The two parted, and Jack watched them leave, everything he had lost suddenly becoming all too clear. _I was shaped by the abbey. And now I can never return._ Jack heaved a deep breath and kept sidling along, finally finding an open window. The scent of incense and faint sweat wafted through. He clambered into the opening, left hand readying the omni-bow just in case. The corridors stood empty, although alarm systems ran along the walls. Deep chanting echoed from deeper inside the abbey, and Jack felt a horrid mixture of trepidation and longing. Soon he would be saying goodbye to this place, one way or another.

"Security seems sparse," remarked Miranda, blade drawn as she climbed surely through the window.

"Many died during the attack. Almost everyone." _Until I … dishonored myself._ Jack pointed to the pipes above and clenched his left hand. Miranda, rooted in place at the feet but otherwise unfrozen, nodded and readied her own transversal. They appeared side by side, crouched under the heating pipes that ran along the ceiling.

"Useful talent. Gives you plenty of time to think." Miranda sniffed. "A pity mine does not stop time."

"Are you going to complain about how disappointing your unnatural powers are all day?" Jack kept his voice low, but the anger was genuine. "They're just enough. They're all I can give, as far as I know. And they cost me much to obtain."

"My apologies." It did not sound terribly genuine, but Jack did not have time to care. The stench of sweat rose as they crept along, making as little noise as possible, stopping as another overseer patrolled under them, humming tunelessly. A small open shutter led to the room Jack wanted, the stench thickening.

A great steel cage stood ringed around a single chair fitted with restraints. A limp figure sat in the chair, head turned to the side, his outfit unmistakably one of an overseer, sans mask. Above the cage, someone spoke into a crackling audiograph. Jack held up a finger and directed his will to the top of the cage, just above where the man would be standing. _Wait here._ He blinked, staring down at the masked overseer from above, watching the way his arms stood out against the desk he leaned against.

"…keeps claiming it was a spur of the moment decision, borne only of love for one's brother," said the overseer. _Gerald._ He bore no real love for Gerald. The man had a temper, and occasionally vented it on hounds. "He continually tells us that he has nothing for us or the abbey, that what he did was purely on compassionate impulse. "We live because of Jack," he says, but Jack might have damned us. The High Overseer will look upon Shanxi with an unforgiving eye, invasion or no. We are expected to die before treating with the Outsider, and Jack made the wrong choice."

 _On that we are agreed._ Jack held his breath, surged forward behind Gerald. His feet touched firm carpeted floor. He reached for Gerald's neck and readied his arms.

With a sudden charge of strength, Jack wrapped his arms around Gerald perfectly, choking off his last words and his immediate breath, causing him to gasp and grunt as he struggled fruitlessly against Jack's chokehold. A few desperate seconds of uncertainty and pain, and Gerald fell limp in Jack's arms. Jack released his former brother with a sigh, his body falling bonelessly to the floor.

"You'll have to teach me how to do that," said Miranda, joining Jack on the ground.

"You're what? Fifteen?" Jack grunted. "Fifteen year old girls can't incapacitate grown men through strength alone." _Or, well, you can't at least._ "Give it time, use the darts. I'm going to go see what the damage is."

"I'll unlock his restraints." Miranda rubbed her arms. "Is it just me, or is it getting … cold? And I thought I could hear music."

Jack strained, his neck prickling. He could hear distant music as well, familiar music. And the air felt far chillier than it had any right to be, inside a heated building.

Jack blinked to the top of the steel cage again, fell from it neatly, legs bending as he hit the ground. Oleg sat lifelessly in his chair. As Jack approached, he stirred, his head lolling, making Jack's heart jump. Smooth fresh burn scars covered the right side of Oleg's face, three angry red lines like the claws of some great cat. _I was too late._ Jack hesitated, wondering if it would be more merciful to wake him, try to initiate a rescue … or slide a blade into his breast, a clean stroke through the heart. It would be less painful in the long run, most likely. _It is one thing to wear a mark on one's hand. It is another to have it burned across your face. Oh, Oleg._

"Oleg," murmured Jack, gently pushing the man's shoulder. Oleg gave a start, began coughing, his body heaving with pain. He stared up, his black goatee flecked with dried blood. For a few moments, he stared up at Jack without recognition. Jack removed his mask. The restraints retracted into the chair with a snap.

"You came back for me?" Oleg's voice stood a hair above a whisper, and he did not hide his disbelief. He coughed. "Heh. We're a … loyal pair of heretics, are we not?"

"I'm taking you out of here." Jack reached forward, tried to pull Oleg to his feet. Oleg grunted with the strain, tried to stand to the best of his ability. After a few moments, he slumped back.

"It might be best … for the both of us-" he began, but Jack just shook his head, donned his whaling mask.

"I'll carry you. We have a ship waiting."

"What kind of a ship would bear the likes of us?" asked Oleg, before chuckling. "Ah, a stupid question. A whaling vessel, I would guess by your attire. The sailors have always clung bits of carved bone to their breast far more readily than simply reciting the Seven Strictures." Jack pulled Oleg over his shoulder, grunting at the strain. _This is going to be unpleasant._

"Voices down the corridor." Miranda appeared in a burst of wind, tugging her scarf closer to her mouth. "You're going to seriously carry him the whole way?"

"He's always been determined," said Oleg, sounding more bemused than anything else. The voices grew closer, and Jack's left hand began to burn. "You are sure this is how you want to go about this, Jack? I have already accepted my fate."

The two doors swung open, and Jack ordered time to slow. Three brothers, all looking to him in shock, reaching for their blades in slow motion. Jack activated the omni-tool, the sleep darts loaded. He fired three times, the projectile slowed to a blazing yellow arrow, tipped with blue. Then time snapped back, and Jack watched in amusement as his brothers shouted in slurred speech.

"Sound the alarm!" shouted one, turning and falling to the ground with a muffled yell. Another fumbled with his blade, muttering curses, and then finally slid to the ground against a wall, still gamely trying to pull his blade free. The third simply stood there, plucked the dart from his side, and nodded.

"Huh." Then he collapsed without any fanfare. Miranda giggled at the display, but Jack was already jogging as fast as he could, stepping over the bodies.

"Two darts left, and they'll sound an alarm soon enough," snapped Jack, making for the window. "Help me with him!"

With much fumbling and muttering of curses (along with Oleg half-heartedly asking to be left behind again) they pulled him through to the ledge and sat him down. Then they slid through, shutting the window behind them, Jack already reaching down to grab Oleg. The night air chilled further. The music grew closer. Worse still, new lights danced from the streets, blazing fires and unrestrained screaming.

"Guess Udina was right after all," said Miranda, peering out into the chaos beyond. The crack of gunshots and the clash of steel carried far on the night wind, far too loud to indicate anything less than a major riot. "I wonder if it started how he said it would. One idiot getting shot."

"Not worth speculating over at this juncture, is it?" asked Oleg, head bouncing against Jack's back. With a sigh, they reappeared on the closest rooftop, the sound of violence growing only louder. "I see you've been spreading your ah, gift." He paused. "Is that the Duke's daughter?"

"The heresy runs deep." Miranda appeared at his side. Snatches of music could be heard over the chaos, along with deep grinding clanks. Jack recalled the Outsider's words. Sweat began to roll into his eyes under the mask. "We need to leave. Now."

The trip to the abbey had been serene. The trip away was anything but. Jack deposited Oleg on the second rooftop and stared below at the licking flames and thrashing figures. Bodies lay strewn where they had fallen; guardsmen taken from behind with meat cleavers, roughly hacked to pieces; butchers and other men of labor riddled with the small bullets favored by repeater rifles, the odd red coat of her Imperial Majesty's Royal Marines. The body of an overseer, too, could be seen, his body rent with bloody cuts. _Rest easy in the Void, brother._

Where life could still be seen, the view grew no less grisly. Watchmen formed firing lines with their pistols and opened up at the crowds, who returned fire with thrown rocks and bottles. Men and women alike went down with screams, clutching bloody faces and gaping chest wounds. A Royal Marine stood on a nearby rooftop, repeating rifle firing on full automatic, the bullets ripping through the crowds without warning or remorse. She stood in Jack's way.

With a sigh he appeared behind the grim-faced woman, the smoke of her gun clinging to her clothes like he guts of fish. With a grunt he pulled her away from the edge, arms holding tight against her, the thrashing of her limbs doing nothing to deter him. In a few minutes she lay still but breathing, a far more merciful fate than she had dealt many below. Jack considered the repeating rifle for a moment before abandoning it, returning to Oleg and Miranda.

"Might swing things in favor of the chaos," said Miranda, but without disapproval. Oleg only coughed and laughed.

"Give the everyman a chance," he said, a grin lighting up his face. It faded as another blast of music erupted from below. "That didn't sound-"

Jack sprinted to the edge and looked down. Something massive stirred down below, something that grinded and clanked like a ship being shifted to dry dock. It bore thick plated armor and stood on four thick legs. Jack could make out no head from where he stood, only that from the back it looked like a pill bug, and it seemed to be observing the chaos without moving to interfere. Strange but familiar music blared from its armor, and a thick spotlight was mounted atop the thing's spine. Without warning, the spotlight swiveled, searching the rooftops. Jack shrank back, afraid to even breathe.

"I think something's looking for us." Miranda looked down and shrunk back as well, falling to a crouch. Oleg cocked his head but did not otherwise react, instead remaining resting against the rooftop vent access. "It's big. And it's using mathematics."

"That means your powers won't work on it, girl," said Oleg, sensing Miranda's confusion. He coughed, a weak hand feeling for the mark on his face. "How big is it?"

"Ten feet tall at the … shoulder." Jack took quick glances over the edge at the beast, which now crossed the street with stupendously heavy footfalls, its armor grinding like broken clockwork. "The Outsider warned me about this. I don't think we should let it get our attention."

"Hmph." Miranda pointed to the next rooftop. "The docks are not far. And it doesn't seem to be moving very fast." _Fair enough._

Jack scooped Oleg off the ground, who now at least appeared to be moving with greater strength. Just to be safe, he also activated the Sirta Solution injector, letting the warmth flow through his veins at the pinch of a syrette. The last few blinks had felt labored, difficult. The next one – effortless.

No sooner had the two of them crossed rooftops, the beast below bellowed in some alien language, the mathematics crashing like thunder. The headlight blazed upwards at the roof they stood on and fixed there. The grinding clanks began working in rhythm, far faster than before. It moved through the streets with disturbing speed. _It can sense us._

"Keep moving!" Jack leapt across the next gap, flying through the air. His left hand glowed and he froze. Below him, the dark shape still moved. Through the gray, a light blazed at Jack, and part of the creature's armor unfolded. Jack released his grip with a gasp, appearing safely on the next roof. _It defies our abilities._

"Run!" Jack's feet pounded against the steel and concrete, and he did not let himself think. The sea awaited him, the coast growing larger with every passing moment. Behind him, Miranda panted and gasped, urging him to wait up. Behind him, the city went mad as the Watch turned its guns on the citizens, and Shanxi burned this time at its own hands. Behind him, the thing kept effortless pace, cantering along on armored feet, its shadow now winged with what might have been two massive blades and two massive cannons. Jack could not afford to slow.

A ship waited at dock. Their ship. A great crowd had also gathered at the dock in protest, demanding exit from the colony. The captain stood at the dock, pistol drawn, smoking a long cigar. She too, scanned the rooftops, caught a glimpse of Jack as he hurtled along, Oleg still in his arms. She fired her pistol once into the air.

The smell of salt and rot. The promise of freedom and the threat of the weather. The docks always sang to Jack, even as a full Warfare Overseer, the crowds of people from all over the Empire always providing a wondrous, if sometimes very odd, sight. The green glass waves, too, appealed to some part of him, the part of him that still remained from his time as a callow boy. _To sail the waves and the stars, to hear the whale song cross the empty expanse…_

Jack longed to Rove with his Feet. And now, at last, he went to sea. As a heretic. With the Duke's daughter at his back, and a marked overseer on his shoulder.

He blinked to the streets and did not let up, trying to outrun his own exhaustion. The captain fired again, the crowd scattering and shrieking, other whalers emerging from the deck with weapons in hand. The captain cocked an eyebrow at Jack's approach but parted to let him pass. The crowd went absolutely mad at this.

"Are you smuggling people out, now?"

"That man had an overseer on his back, I saw it!"

Miranda did not bother to run through the crowds, instead blinking to the ship's prow and mantling it neatly. Her own chest heaved with exhaustion, but Jack could see the smugness and satisfaction in her eyes as he laid Oleg down. Two more shots rang out, and the captain beat a retreat to the ship.

She whistled loudly, cutting through the chaos. Ancient mathematics boomed back, a vast shadow emerging from a burning street.

The crowd turned. They did not like what they saw. To be fair, neither did Jack.

Looming red eyes stared at the ship, the floodlight fixed on Jack, who turned and stood, mark burning. From where he stood now, the creature looked like some kind of rhino on stilts, heavily plated in black armor. Two massive cannons emerged from the creature's back, pointed directly at Jack. Before those cannons, currently holding to the side, gleaming metal spread from the beast like wings, thick and sharp, each as big as Jack. _So this is what the Outsider meant about a whaler sliced in half. Those would do the job._

The beast stared. It did not move. It did not shoot. Mathematics boomed from it, making Jack feel fundamentally ill. The captain shouted, curses, pleas, and orders, a flurry of activity around her. The ship began to lower with a rattling of chains. The beast took a step forward – only to stop as a thrown bottle broke over its head.

"Beast!"

"Void-spawned demon!"

The crowd found its voice, hurling bricks, bottles, and stones at the creature, which had about as much effect as one might expect. Nevertheless it turned away from Jack, its blades flashing. Without warning it charged the crowd with a distorted bellow, scattering them in all directions with a scream. Then two gunshots rang out. The last Jack saw over the lip of the dock's edge was the blades whirring overhead like the motor of a ship, the mathematics growing silent in favor of some inhuman screaming. Then it was gone.

"Outsider's eyes," breathed Oleg. "I am glad to leave this place. What was that?"

"Large and angry." The captain strolled over to them, looking distinctly displeased. "Udina said you might arrive looking something like this. I didn't expect the crowd, though. Or that thing." She extended a hand, her skin gleaming beneath the deck's lantern. "Captain Jiang. Thanks for getting us off that damn colony." The ship lurched and splashed, finally free. The engines began to chug. "We need to get below deck. Can he walk?"

"I've got him." Jack hoisted Oleg up for what he hoped would be the last time. Oleg smiled in weak disbelief as he ascended.

Miranda followed, looking pensive, as if the true implications of what her life would look like from that point forward were at last hitting her. The other whalers went with them, holstering pistols or fingering bone charms, a few singing under their breath. As they entered the metal guts of the ship, one actually burst into full song.

"It was on the good ship Venus, by Void you should have seen us-"

"Not now," snapped Jiang, and the crewman shrank back. She led them to sick bay, where a doctor wrung his hands as Jack laid Oleg on a metal table.

"Strap him down. We're not going to be sea-bound for long." Jack started at this, and Jiang turned to him with a scowl. "What? You think a false document will let us leave with the Duke's daughter in peace? We've got a week at most before they send someone out to get us. It's time to get off this planet."

"But the ships-"

Jiang waved it off. "Yeah, the ships. I've got a plan. Ever seen what Spicer Whales do when they're properly pissed?" She pulled a speaker from the wall and activated with a crack of static. "Find the pod, full steam ahead. Prep VTOL launch."

"The Empire will find you, you know." Miranda folded her arms. "They have your ship registry and everything."

"There are ports out there who won't ask questions and will pay out the nose for Spicer oil. And it's not the first time this ship will have changed names." Jiang waved Miranda off. "I'm going to the bridge. You're welcome to join me, if you're as sick of this planet as I am."

Whalers rushed to and fro in the hallways, some carrying canisters of trans, others heavy munitions. Many opened hatches and departed inside, manning the weapons and tools used to bring down nature's greatest and most dangerous of creatures. Jiang barked out instructions as they passed, and the crew hastened to them. She paid little mind to the two heretics at her back, marching upwards to the bridge and pulling her mask about her face. The ship bucked with the waves, and Jack could feel his empty stomach begin to heave.

"Docking authority wants us back already, Captain," reported the comm officer as the three of them clambered through the main hatch, an omni-pad emerging from his wrist, barked orders crackling from a nearby radio. "I think they're starting to question the legitimacy of our paperwork. Can't imagine why."

"Turn it off," said Jiang, and the radio fell silent. "You better be bloody well prepped for VTOL. Cannons ready?"

"Cannons ready!" called back a crewman from her instruments.

"Harpoons ready?"

"Uh, harpoons ready!"

"Seal all bulkheads and brace for launch." Jiang turned to Jack. "There are certain measures one must take to hunt space whales. They differ from breed to breed. One thing they teach you early – never, EVER try to use harpoons on Spicers. Too big, it'll just piss 'em off." Jiang cracked her knuckles. "But … if ever we needed a big choffing distraction…" She pointed to a crewman. "Full volley. Fire!"

"Firing harpoons!"

Through the thick viewports, rain and the spray of the sea lashed against the windows. Through the dark choppy waters, something large let loose a gout of seawater. Deep resonant songs reverberated across the night air, audible even through the metal. Then the ship bucked. The songs turned to screams.

"Full power to aft VTOL engines." Jiang did not appear the least bit perturbed as the crew scurried back and forth. Miranda and Jack clung to the nearest chair welded to the floor for dear life as the oceans began to froth with blood and rage, and the ship shook. "Oh no. We're being abducted by whales."

Jack looked up just in time to see the Spicers leap from the waters, blood and seawater falling from them like sparkling crystal, their flippers flaring into enormous splendid wings. One trailed thick chains, and the ship jerked as the engines fired and the whale tugged the ship upward, engine and chains alike straining to keep pace without breaking something. Jack looked on as the captain cackled dementedly, totally at ease with this chain of events.

More orders burst from radios like firecrackers, many invoking her Imperial Majesty to get the _Cerberus_ back in line. All were cut off, however, as the cheers went up. The sea faded below, the green glass waters disappearing beneath a thick cloud line. The stars gleamed overhead, full of promise and mystery. The ship bucked and shook as they pressed through the atmosphere, Jack's knuckles whitening as he gripped the ship chair with great force. And then they were through.

"They're pulling us away from the ships. Use the whales to screen us, that should fuck up their targeting solutions." Jiang looked to the readouts, hand on chin. "Give it ten minutes and then unchain the beasts before they jump. Prep to follow." She looked down to Jack, who kneeled on the floor, sweat running into his eyes under the mask. "Say goodbye to Shanxi, if you feel like it. We're bound for distant ports, now."

"Are all whalers this insane?" asked Jack, wondering why the Outsider hadn't granted this madwoman a mark. The captain only shrugged, began bellowing for her bo'sun. He stood shakily, Miranda helping him to his feet.

"So," she said, voice not entirely calm. "We're free."

Jack looked to the rear viewport. Shanxi grew smaller behind them, smoke rising from the city they left behind. He thought he could see other ships, smaller ones, resplendent in indigo and strange of shape, but it could just have easily been his imagination. The mark on his hand burned, but he felt safe.

"Yes," said Jack, bereft of Abbey, home, and certain future. But not life. Not capability. The mark flared on his hand, promising great things for the taking. "I suppose we are."

The Outsider came to Jack in his sleep, his own form pitching with the ship, shaking in the smoke, a smile fixed to his face. Jack watched, waited patiently.

"Well," said the Outsider, looking for the first time genuinely amused. "Now, I think, things get interesting."


	3. Duty Ascendant

Smoke rose from the stone ridged towers, thick and billowing. The smell of sweat and meat, exhausted and red, hung thick in the humid air, the aroma hanging over the crowds and buildings like an over-stuffed blanket, choking off breath and relief. Ka'Hairal Balak drew in the fetid air through his nose, the heat and odors fazing him not at all.

The base of the great pyramidal tower stood rimmed by fifteen foot walls, topped with thick circles of barbed wires and scowling guards, their spears edged with cruel hooks. A single thick black gate admitted entrance to the grounds proper, but no guards could be seen flanking its sides, and no visitors strode upward for admittance. Indeed, the cars driving by sped up as they passed the road to the gate, and passing pedestrians averted all four eyes, lest they be blinded but what lay within. Only Ka'Hairal Balak made the short lonely trip over hot gravel, his every movement tracked by the sharp-eyed guards above. At a distance of ten feet, his omnitool pinged once. The black gates slid inwards.

The grounds within changed the scent of the city. Large kema trees grew on either side of the path to the tower, the underbelly of their thick green leaves laden with swollen fruit. Great orange and purple flowers stirred lazily in the damnably weak breeze, their petals almost looking too enormous to be supported by their thin green stems. The air, previously thick with sweat, now filled with pollen and the odor of fruit so overripe to be almost rotting. Balak took a moment to regain his bearings as he strode through the gates, taking in the new scents as he breathed in through his nose. It only took but a moment.

The tower rose high into afternoon skies the color of peach. Gravel crunched underfoot as Balak made his laborious way to his destination, not allowing any of his four eyes to stray too far up the tower, lest they be blinded by what lay within. As a senior member of the Soldier Caste, his place lay near the top, but the gulf between those who attended the very highest tier and where he would sit … well. It was the distance between himself and an alien slave, really.

The heat lessened as Balak marched close to the tower, whose inner gate was indeed guarded by two soldiers in resplendent bronzed armor. Cold water ran down the walls of the tower in shallow furrows, filling the channels dug around the tower with shimmering liquid, and the air with a pleasing chilliness. Balak breathed easier as he approached the guards, the leftmost's omnitool flaring. Within moments, the guard had Balak's place of birth, caste, accomplishments, family, immediate friends, and favorite color all running down the inside of his helmet. It took only a moment for the guard to nod and then apply the algorithm, lifting his free armored wrist and adjusting his spear with the other.

"Fifteenth floor, third row, nineteenth seat." The guard inclined his head. "You will be the thirty-third to speak, assuming perfect attendance."

"Thank you." Balak's own omnitool pinged as it received the data and instructions. Balak proceeded past the two and into the tower. All else faded except for the sounds of trickling water and the faint panting of his own breath. His heart hammered in his chest as he entered the tower proper, faced the immense steel wall before him. The closest elevator lay waiting but ten feet away, slanted inwards to travel up the slope of the pyramidal tower. With a deep breath, Balak entered.

The doors shut without his prompting, his ID already scanned and registered. The elevator started with a jerk, and Balak assumed a stiff posture. He could not recall if had ever attended a Scrying of this size before … and he knew for certain that this was the only one the Hegemon had deigned to attend where he would also be present. _Thirty-third to speak … that is not so far off from second._ It was dizzying to think about.

The elevator climbed at an unimpressive pace. Looking out the window to his left, Balak could now see other elevators likewise climbing the structure, each of them stopping at a lower floor than his. There was no small amount of satisfaction in that. When the elevator stopped with a click, Balak noted with satisfaction his proximity to the pinnacle. Only two floors remained between himself and the very top. His smile faded as he realized that meant he would likely be within sight of the Hegemon for the entirety of the Scrying. _There can be no mistakes._

The doors opened without a sound, and Balak forced himself to walk through without any apparent expression, all four eyes fixed on the seat he had been assigned to by caste and accomplishment. Others in similar attire to him sat all around him, the mixed greens and oranges of ceremonial military attire, robes covered by rough armored vests and blades belted around the waist. At the pinnacle above them, hooded figures gathered around a single prone form.

Balak came upon his assigned seat suddenly, the high stone chair unadorned and smooth. As Balak took his seat he tried not to dwell on how unforgivingly hard it felt on his back and rump, how no movement granted any real relief. To display discomfort would be beneath him. Trying to take his mind off of the hard stone, Balak's gaze briefly wandered from the flurry of activity above to directly ahead of himself and his fellow officers. The high throne shone from the opposite alcove. The Hegemon himself stared over all of them in resplendent silver. He would be second to speak.

Not a single whisper slipped from anyone's lips as they waited. Balak only nodded to himself, the sweat gathering on his forehead and hands. It was doubtful he could be easily seen from this distance … but nevertheless, he lay within view of the Hegemon. The others around him sat stiff-necked and unmoving, one pair of eyes set on the proceedings above, the other on a neighbor. There could be no mistakes in etiquette at this level. They were all eager to join the alcove before them one day.

At last, the arms of each chair opened, revealing the gleaming silver screens beneath them. Each emerged from the arms on a thin steel folding rod, holding the telescreen in place as it slid over their laps and crackled into life. Balak kept one pair of eyes on the screen, the other on his rightward neighbor. The first words would soon be spoken. The glass flickered and revealed a bird's eye view of the chamber above.

A shirtless batarian lay against a stone dais covered by a thick white cloth, wearing little more than a black shift lined with golden embroidering. Slight figures covered in thick crimson robes gathered around him, one at each side of the dais, still utterly silent. Each one clasped a small hand against a heavy limb. The batarian gulped and shut one pair of eyes briefly. _Fear. It's understandable._

"Proudly do I give my life for the Batarian Hegemony, long may it stand," said the batarian, voice thick with whatever strange concoction the Priestesses had given him to dull the pain and silence the screams. "Through my blood, I will peel away the caul before our eyes, cleanse the air of obfuscating smoke, and reveal where our enemies are weakest. I walk into the Void willingly and without fear. I trust in our Hegemon. Let the end come."

"Bless you and yours for the totality of your faith." The Hegemon's voice, melodious and deep like whale song recorded in the deepest blackness of space. He stood, clad in simple robes of white, his height and magnificence visible even across about twenty feet of open space. Balak's breath caught in his throat despite himself. "Savor this moment, for in these last seconds of life, you stand higher than any of us. So shall you always, even after you pass. Your children shall not ever want for food." The Hegemon inclined his head. "Begin."

"The cut shall be made." Balak watched with unblinking eyes as the grip tightened around each limb. A fifth sister, taller than the others, brought forth a sharpened sliver of obsidian. The batarian on the slab shut his eyes, a small if nervous smile playing at his lips. His fingers barely twitched. The priestess leaned in to do her work.

There had been plenty of blood in Balak's line of work, and he had witnessed such ceremonies in the past. Nevertheless, the way shift and skin simply came open with such a deft slice still sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, something no doubt noted by whoever sat to his left. The cloth did not make a sound as the blade rent it open, but the flesh made a soft sound that brought visions of battle crashing back into Balak's mind, of blades locked with turians chanting about their infernal chained sun.

A thin surgical slash of red now ran from just under the neck all the way down the batarian's sternum, terminating midway through the now partially exposed belly. Balak held his tongue beneath his teeth, his hands clamped to both armrests. To look away would be the highest disrespect for the immensity of this man's sacrifice, a sure sign of lacking the grit and honor demanded of his caste and position … but watching the proceedings still made the hair all across his body stand on end. The batarian on the slab did not react. His breathing in fact slowed, and the smile widened.

With only a moment of pause, the High Priestess placed the blade to the side, its edges dribbling with thin trails of red. Then she leaned over again, hands outstretched. With a small grunt, she pulled open the two free flaps of skin, exposing the glistening, pulsating red beneath. Balak's fingers scratched against stone as the sister reached in, her arm going elbow deep, questing for the truth within this man's guts.

With a sound like tearing fabric coupled with a faint pop, the sister wrestled free some greasy fat rope, dripping a faint pink, her limb red all the way up the forearm. The other sisters looked up and murmured as the taller sister stretched out the organ, holding one end with either hand, letting the impressive length of the middle dangle and bounce below, the red droplets flying in all directions.

"The Outsider moves!" called out the High Priestess, and murmuring erupted from the Hegemon's alcove, the Grand Vizier speaking first, followed by the hushed utterances as speech was permitted further down the line in turn. It remained silent around Balak at present, however. "Someone new has been granted his mark."

The High Priestess dived into the guts of the sacrifice again, creating a truly hideous series of squelches. The sacrifice's legs twitched, and the other priestesses pressed them down against the stone. What was left of the shift was now soaked heavy with thick blood, and Balak could do little else other than stare in mixed sick fascination and utter disgust. The High Priestess pulled free another series of grisly rope, fat with grease. Both eyes looked it up and down before lifting it high.

"The Ecclesiarchy sounds the drums of war, but they are deafened by the cannons of the asari." The other sisters nodded and pointed to the heavy midsection, where the blood fell fastest and in the greatest splotches. Little movement could be seen from the sacrifice now, and Balak's alcove began to erupt in whispers. His own omnitool pinged, and he felt his tongue loosen. _Relax. You did the best you could._

"A new race has been discovered!" proclaimed the High Priestess after a momentary pause, her voice containing a hint of disbelief. She pointed a trembling finger to the patterns of red on the soaked shift, at where the blood ran down. "They … they bear the Outsider's face. The one who bears his mark is among them."

"Name them!" hissed the sisters, and the High Priestess relinquished the meaty rope to sink her arm into the sacrifice one last time. He groaned and shuddered as she reached upwards through the rib cage, angling her body to seek the greatest trove of knowledge of all. With another ripping sound, she yanked the heart free, raised it high above the stilling body of the sacrifice, above the entirety of the Hegemony.

"I name them humanity!" called out the High Priestess. "They warred with the turians, but the guns still at the Council's behest. And now the Void echoes with the name of the Outsider's new toy."

"Name him!" called out the sisters, and the Hegemon joined them, followed by the Grand Vizier, followed by the Vizier, all the way down the line until Balak was bellowing the words, until the chant echoed from deep below where the rabble gathered.

"We name him Jack Harper. We know his face. And we know where he might be found."

* * *

Jack faced the star-speckled emptiness, filled with a hollow kind of awe. His mag boots clung to the hull of the ship with a reassuring strength, letting him stare into space with only the occasional lurch of the stomach. He still twitched as the inside of his helmet gave a sharp snap of static.

"You've spoken to the Outsider; you wear his mark on your hand. Is space really that interesting?"

Jack did not turn at Miranda's words, instead choosing to marvel a little longer at the swirling, multi-colored gases that lay so very far away. The stars did not twinkle as in the nursery rhymes he half-remembered from a distant time before the Abbey, they instead shone like the distant suns they were, blazing without cease.

"Did you often travel from world to world, Miranda?" asked Jack, still staring up into the black, a faint sense of unwelcome weightlessness creeping into his gut. "Did your father allow you to perform space walks, stare out of viewports, fly the ship, maybe?" He waited for a response when his helmet filled with static again, but he heard only a faint snort. His eyes wandered, following a few drifting globules of thick red blood, stained with an electric azure substance that trailed behind it in flecks.

"The Abbey afforded me precious little freedom," he continued, still unblinking as he admired the cosmos. "The ship that bore me from Dunwall to Shanxi was a cargo freighter, hauling hundreds of tons of concrete, and a small band of shivering Warfare Overseers. The High Overseer had decreed that the Overseers of the Abbey required no greater comfort than basic food, water, and bedding in such matters, and no way to pass the time other than a single battered copy of the Litany on the Whitecliff." Jack took in a deep breath, remembering the chill and the long hours spent in the company of Oleg and a handful of others, a pang of regret striking his spirit. "I relish this sight."

"Could you relish it after the job is done?" Jack heard a muffled smack and wrenched his gaze away from the beauty. Miranda sawed at the whale meat splattered against the side of the ship, the remnants of the Spicer Whale that had put up the greatest fight, and consequently been blown in half by the cackling Captain Jiang's fore-mounted cannons.

"Not the optimal way to do this," the Captain had admitted as smoking whale meat splattered all against the viewports within the bridge, turning everything outside a sorry shade of blackish red running with bright blue, "but it's better than losing another layer of ablative armor to these things. Of course, now someone will have to scrape the goods off the outside." A sudden grin had sprung on Jiang's face.

Jack had immediately begun averting eye contact, but there was no avoiding the fact that, of all the people on the ship, he and Miranda had the least amount of purpose and did not have the excuse of being horribly injured to the point of incapacity. He had accepted the task with a shrug, Miranda with the poorest of grace.

Jack turned his neck to the side and heard the clicks, felt the hidden bones snapping back into place. Then he leaned down and tugged his saw from where it floated above the hull, its edges leaking free-floating blood and the occasional torn shred of flesh. The remnants of the once-mighty creature sat before him, now nothing more than a heap of broken jagged bones spearing through a steaming mess of gore.

Muffled and most unladylike curses streamed from Miranda's helmet as she cut away chunks of flesh and shoved it towards the nearest gravpipe. Jack watched the most recent harvest disappear with a faint sucking pop before flipping the switch and bending to his own task, taking a faint but nevertheless shameful satisfaction in feeling the flesh part before the whirring blade of his saw. As the chunks came away in the zero gravity, he imbedded the saw in his next target before quickly retrieving the meat and lightly tossing it towards the nearest pipe. The meat, blood and all, disappeared into the belly of the ship with another pop of suction.

"This isn't what I had in mind when I left Shanxi," said Miranda, with that familiar petulant tone favored by the nobility. "This is disgusting."

"These people defied your father and took us in when no one else would." Slice. Another piece of whale flesh, floating free from the whole. "This is the least we can repay them with."

"I can think of plenty other activities I would consider "least" to this." Miranda hacked savagely at the carcass, several jagged strips coming away at once in a slurry of slow-moving blood. "My back hurts. I've almost slipped twice. And…" Jack thought he heard a faint burp, and Miranda quickly turned away. _Ah. It makes her sick._ Jack shrugged. All initiates in the Abbey grew used to the sight of blood eventually. Their own, more often than not. It would be no different here.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the meat disappearing at a depressingly slow rate. Nevertheless, the tide of flesh still gradually receded, and Jack eventually found himself standing on blood-soaked hull that had once been covered by whale. For some strange reason, it made Jack feel … content. _Restless Hands. It is still good to complete my works, whatever they happen to be._

Jack stared at the now sodden glove clamped to his right hand. It could have been his imagination, but he still swore he could see the mark faintly glowing beneath, its golden outline smoking in the emptiness of space. But that was folly. _Errant Mind._ He returned to his task.

"What is the plan, exactly?" asked Miranda, her tone changing from petulant to exhausted and a little worried. "We're both … different … now. There's not going to be any going back, is there?"

 _Ah, child. Now you remember your mattress stuffed with Kingsparrow Feathers, the many bookshelves in your father's household, the splendid banquets with their honored guests …_ Despite himself, Jack felt a pang of guilt. _Took her away from all of that on a whim, at the behest of the Outsider more or less. She's only fifteen. She cannot understand what she just gave up._

"The Captain plans to stop at Tyvia next," said Jack carefully, feeling his throat close momentarily at the memories from his last days spent on the homeworld. _Gristol and Dunwall, not so far away from that frozen place. I suspect I will never be able to return._ "I … would not recommend that we stay there. Once the Spicers are offloaded and the ship's registry changed, they are bound for the Rim. So are we, assuming the alien situation does not … escalate."

"The Rim," said Miranda dully. "And on the Rim?"

"Oleg and I will take stock and evaluate." Jack grimaced underneath his helmet. "For now, we will have to hide. Given the sheer number of Outsider worshippers I found within about five minutes of receiving his mark, I am sure we will not want for allies." _Consorting with such scum …_ Jack's left hand trembled for a moment, remembering countless wooden rulers smacking over his knuckles for asking the wrong questions. His hand clenched. _You'll need a bigger ruler now._

"Perhaps the Outsider will have some ideas." Miranda said this so casually, but Jack noted the way she looked back at him, trying to gauge his response through his body language. "He wouldn't hand out his mark to someone who won't do anything with it."

"I'm not asking _him_ for advice." Jack cut away a massive slab of meat and gingerly began swatting it towards the nearest gravpipe with his free hand. " _He_ is the reason we are both cutting up a dead whale on this cursed vessel." Jack's hand burnt again. _And yet … he is the reason I am now free. From the Abbey. From the Empire. From the law as man made it._

Jack looked up into the stars again, brow furrowed. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt a chill wind blow from beyond the black, carrying a scent of fresh gore, disturbing and alien. Jack stared into the darkness, and thought he could feel someone staring back. His mark burned.

* * *

"By the order of her Imperial Majesty, Elizabeth Kaldwin, martial law is in effect!" blared the screens and speakers across Shanxi, audible even in the depths of the Lawson Estate. "Law enforcement and military personnel have orders to shoot violators on sight!" Reina Azerah, Royal Spymaster, took a moment to stare out the open window and over the smoldering cityscape. A familiar crack broke through the droning of the announcer.

 _Strange. We are invaded from beyond the stars, yet by now we have spent more bullets on our own than the ones that besieged us._ She would need statistics to prove that, of course. She had the current death toll laid out before her, each district having supplied a count down to the last man, woman, and child. Only the Fisherman's District had failed to report in. Too many waterlogged bodies kept washing ashore, and much of the rubble remained uncleared. _Stiff arms stretching up into the dusty air. Children's fingers bleeding as they scrabble against rough stone…_

The thought caused a small stab of emotion, but little more. There were numbers to go over, costs to calculate. No amount of money would mend the shattered bodies and pull their beings back from the Void, but broken bridges and buildings, smashed windows and destroyed vehicles, these could have a price attached to them. These could be repaired.

Reina bit her lip as she shifted in her chair, tapping and dragging part of the haptic interface separate from the other glowing screens. _Something else unquantifiable._ The High Overseer's message remained as clipped, direct, and impartial as she was used to, but the actual content of the message … well.

 _Report of overseer by name of Jack Harper to have been seen with an Outsider's Mark. He used dark powers to repel an attack by these "turians" and save the abbey here in Shanxi. He resisted arrest with the help of another overseer, Oleg Petrovsky. They are both believed to have escaped on board the vessel known as_ Cerberus _that illegally left harbor shortly before our arrival, as corroborated by the alien agent brought to the surface to hunt them down. I will send additional updates as they come._

 _Glory to the Everyman._

 _-High Overseer Ramon Boyle_

Reina stared read the message three times, committing each word to memory. She had the report regarding the _Cerberus_ , of course, and the local Whaler's Guild representative remained in custody, but this was something else. It stirred an old memory from a history book, specifically _That Old Heretic, the Life of Royal Protector Corvo Attano._

"There can be no true defense against black magic," the Royal Protector had said. "Practitioners are still mortal men, and will bleed when struck, but how can you prepare against something so unnatural? So unpredictable? Men and women disappear in puffs of smoke and showers of flower petals, reappearing where they will with blades in hand. Others summon rats or raise hounds from the dead to fight for them. How can guards be trained against such witchcraft? If someone with his mark gets it in their head to kill an empress, then the empress is dead."

 _And what runs through Harper's head now?_ Reina's fingers twitched. _At least he is not here. He is not where the empress is._

From beyond the door came a heavy note on a piano, followed by two others. Reina frowned and looked through the screen, wondering who on earth would decide to mess around with a piano at this time, at this place. After a few more clearly probing notes, the culprit apparently decided that the piano was in tune and began playing the instrument with undeniably deliberate loudness, sending a barely recognizable rendition of "Drunken Whaler" barreling down the halls and through Reina's office with outrageous aplomb. Thankfully, there was no singing.

Pressing her fingers against the desk with perhaps a tad more force than she intended, Reina pushed herself up and strode to the door, not bothering to unclench her jaw as she pushed it open with a snap. She stared at the large figure sitting at the piano, teeth grinding, raising a finger to point before starting in recognition.

The Royal Protector turned with a bushy eyebrow raised, a large gloved finger lingering over one of the keys before pressing it down with deliberate forcefulness, a single shrill note hanging in the air before fading with an almost comical slowness.

"Knocking at your door always gets a, "Just a minute."" Samuel Murphy, Royal Protector, stood from the small bench and stretched out, his back giving out a series of pops as he lifted his arms over his head, brushing against the graying hair of his thick sideburns. He grinned at Reina cheekily as he brought his arms back down, the scars running across his left cheek and jaw stretching and contorting as they did so. It remained a thoroughly friendly grin nonetheless.

"You don't have a minute you can spare?" Reina folded her arms and did her best to scowl, but her heart was not in it. "Couldn't you have at least played a little quieter?"

"It's not Sokolov's fourth bloody movement, ma'am." The grin stretched wider. "Some songs need to be loud, or you lose the message. The song doesn't go, "Dear oh dear, my good captain, whatever shall we do with the inebriated sailor in our employ?" And I spared you the singing."

"You did spare me the singing," agreed Reina, lips twitching. "And you got me out of the office. Well?"

"The empress has agreed to land and meet with them." Murphy's grin disappeared in favor of a furrowed brow and a furtive glance to either side of them, checking the halls and doors. "Ruled out meeting on one of our ships, ruled out on meeting in one of theirs, compromised by bringing it down here, sharpish. Talks need to be had, but I'm not sure this city is going to withstand more aliens bumbling about, trying to root out heretics."

"She could have consulted me," said Reina, face flushing as more numbers flashed by, costs for damages caused by the second series of riots that happened as the _Cerberus_ left. "When was this decided?"

"About twelve minutes ago." Murphy shrugged. "I mean, for what it's worth, rubbing their noses in the mess they've made and making them fly past the _Apex Imperium_ and all her escorts? Makes for a message. And it makes it clear they are meeting on our terms, on our planet, in our city."

 _Asari. Turians. Elcor._ There were other species as well, but she lacked the data at present. Part of her raged at the empress making such a … bold move without at least consulting her, but the other parts could only buzz with excitement at what might come next. _Assuming it is not war … that their needs are similar to ours … think of everything we can learn from this. Think of the data!_

No trace of that strange enthusiasm could be found on Murphy's broad Morley face. _Well, he is a soldier by trade, standing atop a ruined city. The numbers he would most likely be interested in are relative only to military strength._

"Will I at least be a part of the negotiations?" asked Reina, a bit more stiffly than she intended.

"She wants you to memorize every word these people say," said Murphy with a wink, motioning for Reina to follow him. "Take sketches of them. Analyze their body and their body language. She said, "We're going to bring the finest mind in the Empire and not even point her out. We're going to hide her in a crowd and root out every secret we can.""

"Really?" Reina could not help but blush a little at that. _I suppose that makes sense. Introducing your Royal Spymaster to alien nations immediately would be a little strange._ She sensed the implied apology in the statement as well. "Well. That can be arranged."

"There is one thing that needs to be taken care of before that, though." The two of them strode side by side down the wooden corridors, the light streaming in from the windows alongside from their right revealing the sheer amount of dust in the air, even within the duke's estate. Murphy pushed open the next set of heavy wooden double doors without effort, extending a hand and silently urging Reina past. "About that Whaler Guild fellow. Udina."

"Was just reading up on him." Reina looked down from the railing she now stood against to the polished marble below. A fountain bereft of running water dominated the center of the entrance hall, a worn stone statue of some long-dead Lawson rising from the dry structure. A pair of red-clad Royal Marines flanked either side of the staircase, bayoneted repeaters resting against their shoulders. "What does our lady need me to do?"

"Make sure the High Overseer does not kill him out of hand." The doors thudded shut and Murphy joined her at the railing, resting his heavy wrists against the wood. "Determine to the best of your ability what kind of threat this rogue heretic might pose, if any. And, uh…" Murphy coughed and checked behind him, making Reina cock an eyebrow. _Do you not trust my own ability to check for potential listeners?_ Her omnitool could track every electronic device in the building. _Or are you just uncomfortable?_

"Well, see if you can twist this to the Empire's advantage," said Murphy finally, with a slight scowl. "We need not make any powerful enemies here, regardless of what the Abbey might believe."

"I see." Reina pursed her lips and directed her attention to an innocuous black door to the left of the stairwell below. "With your permission then…?"

"By all means." Murphy rapped the wood once and stepped back from the railing. "While you do that, I will speak to General Williams about coordinating with the guard on riot control. She wants the negotiations to start tomorrow, in full view of every citizen in the empire. It's going to be a bit of a scramble." He scratched the back of his neck. "A pleasure to see you again, my lady."

"The pleasure is all mine." Reina extended a hand only to have it crushed by Murphy's unrelenting grip. The two parted ways, Reina bound for the dark below, Murphy bound for the soft light outside. The Royal Marines straightened as she descended the steps, her boots thudding harshly against the hard marble. The unmarked black door beckoned, and already Reina thought she could taste blood in the air.

The air cooled quickly as she took her first assured steps into the dark, and the smell of smoke and dust gave way to mold and the acrid stench of human bodies given precious little food and precious little facilities to process that food. The stairs soon leveled out to rows of cells, lit dimly by flickering yellow bulbs, a disconcerting number of them already populated by gaunt and hollow-eyed prisoners. They stared out at Reina as she passed, some murmuring pleas for water, for food, for pardon, while others simply gave her a dead-eyed stare, perhaps recognizing her attire and bearing as a servant of the Empire.

At the end of the short hallway sat a heavy door, marked by the pitchfork of the Abbey. Reina knocked on the door with a heavy fist, bracing herself for the possibility that the High Overseer himself would open it. Her heart lurched as her fears were confirmed.

Ramon wore his mask at all times when on duty, but the blood red color of his robes gave his status away immediately. Even beyond that, the man was of an uncommon height, having somehow ended up with the good half of the Boyles' infamously inbred genes. Even though she could not see the man's pale face, Reina thought she could detect a thinning of the lips, a certain setting of the jaw.

"Royal Spymaster." The High Overseer's voice betrayed no hint of emotion. He nevertheless shifted to the side and allowed Reina to pass. "I trust you have read the message I sent?"

"Your trust is well-placed." Reina did not turn as she spoke, instead scanning the man before her, a balding gentleman in whaling gear, his face shaking with rage even as his forehead glistened with fearful sweat. _Donnel Udina, 43, long suspected of all number of corruption and heresies … but what guild representative isn't? This is the first time you have truly stood out in a crowd, Mr. Udina …_ Reina could hardly fail to note the glinting metal suitcase laid on a stool before him, its surface painted an intimidating black. "The Empress wanted me down here, to make certain you did not kill this man when it might not be necessary. Enough citizens have died at our own hands while the alien ships linger above." _And the heretic has yet to prove himself the Empire's enemy._

"I once heard it said that the Royal Protector was entrusted with protecting the Empire's heart, the Spymaster its mind, and the High Overseer its soul." The door shut behind Reina with a click, and Boyle folded his arms, almost looking as if he were blocking Reina's escape rather than Udina's. "I have also heard it said that one cannot be traded for another without weakening the Empire."

"It's a gross overgeneralization, High Overseer." _And I know which body part I would protect at the expense of the others … it's certainly not the soul._ "There is overlap. The Abbey documents history and all manner of cosmological phenomena, the Royal Protector is always well-versed in intrigue, and the Spymaster is always interested in the activities of the Outsider. We have the same goals in mind."

"We shall see." The High Overseer's mask glinted in the harsh light of the single lightbulb above. In the shadows, his the mask made his head look as if it were made of bronze, and no man lay beneath. He strode past Reina to Udina, flinging open the metal suitcase and producing a thin sliver of metal. "Reina, you are Pandyssian, and well-read besides. Would you care to describe to Udina the effects of Razor Geese venom?" He paused. "And while you are at it, is there anything on Pandyssia that is _not_ venomous?"

"Bane Toads." Reina shrugged, eyeing Udina all the while. "They spit acid instead." _I can still remember the smell it makes, too. And the screaming after. They know to aim for the eyes…_ "Razor Geese are rightfully feared for their venom. Sailors stung in older times would scream for amputation rather than try to survive through the pain. Nowadays, thanks to natural philosophers, we simply scoop out all the nerve endings closest to the entry wound. There's still a one in four chance of fatality regardless."

"Spare me this nonsense, High Overseer." Udina spoke through gritted teeth, eyes focused on that thin sliver of metal. "I become useless to you if I get injected with that venom. I will not be intimidated. I have answered your questions already."

The High Overseer cocked his head and placed the needle back into the metal case. His hands came away gripping a silvery hammer.

"It is true. The venom would render you insensate. But I do not need you to walk." The High Overseer stepped forward, his free hand brushing almost lovingly Udina's left knee. Reina clucked her tongue.

"You have questioned him already, then?" she asked sharply, taking a quick protective step forward to the chair. Udina had pulled back, throat working as his breathing quickened and his head reared away from Boyle. Boyle turned to Reina, mask glittering. He nodded stiffly. "Then I would ask that I be allowed to begin interrogations. In private. With an intact Udina."

"Heresy must be punished, Ms. Azerah." Nevertheless, Boyle laid the hammer down and shut the metal case with an angry snap, aware of whom the empress would back. Boyle headed for the heavy door. "I urge you to remember that, far from the Elder Continent's dreary shores. The Abbey and its servants are not to be dismissed so readily."

"You are dismissed regardless," said Reina before she could stop herself. Boyle stopped in place, metal case held under his arm. A lengthy pause followed, and Reina found herself unable to breathe despite herself. Then Boyle took another step forward, opened the door without ponderousness or alacrity, and departed as if nothing had happened at all, a small click following his exit. Reina waited a few moments more, listening for his footsteps fading down the corridor before checking her omnitool. _Nothing in this room. Alone._

"I know nothing, I'm saying nothing, you've got nothing." Udina stared up at Reina, yellowed teeth exposed behind red lips. "These are not the old days of the Rat Plague. Touch me, and the Whalers will make you all regret it."

"There are Outsider Shrines within this district," replied Reina immediately, making sure her voice carried a snap. "Baker's Street, basement within an alley. Foxwile's Square, apartment number forty-two in the green building third from the left entering from the docks. And of course, one within a small, nondescript storage locker owned by the Whaler's Guild, just off of Jacobs Street. I have it on good authority that you have visited all of them at least once within the last four months."

Udina's jaw hung open for a moment, and Reina resisted the urge to smirk or otherwise twitch. She instead stared at Udina, urging him to make the correct decision.

"Figures the Royal Spymaster would see what others choose not to." Udina smiled bitterly. "I can see you're no fanatic, though. What do you want?"

Reina paused, thinking. Force was still an option, distasteful as that might be, but Udina seemed to realize he was in some position to bargain. _I know an opportunist when I see one, however. He will try to hold back as much as possible to better his position later._ Reina rested a hand on the empty stool where the case once lay.

"The truth." Udina choked back a laugh, but Reina's expression shut him up quickly. "There are alien ships in the atmosphere, Donnel. Rioting in the streets. And now the Outsider walks among us again, so it is said. And as a Royal Spymaster, the truth is intensely valuable to me. Let's talk about Jack."

"Never touch the stuff."

With a sigh, Reina brought her hand back and cracked Udina across the face full force, the flat of her hand creating a ringing smack. Udina's chair rocked in place and the man gasped in pain and surprise, his face immediately reddening. Reina stood fully above him, hand clenching as it burned and the satisfaction turned to pain.

"You're not taking this seriously." Reina's nostrils flared as she tried to focus her anger, tried to come up with some explanation that this could be mutually beneficial, that she would not have to cut him into pieces and feed him to hogs. Judging from the way Udina's eyes now flashed with white, it was clear that she had his full attention now at least. "Look … I am not interested in punishing you for whatever sordid business you have been doing for the Whaler's Guild. I am not interested in bringing you in for heresy."

Reina paused, sucking on the inside of her cheek for a moment. "Think … think of this Empire as a vast ship, sailing into the future. Each of its citizens serves a role on this ship, servicing or manning a particular part. At times, the appropriate lubricant for a series of gears may not be available. Or, due to constraints of time and weather, certain safety procedures while docking have to be sped up or overlooked." Udina's red face now cooled partially into white, Reina's fingers blazing across his shaven cheek.

"And of course, what whaler would pass up a chance to secure some good luck with a bone charm or two? A muttered prayer when the waves crest high and the wind howls lustily, when the captain is out of earshot?" Reina smiled. "Your … shortcuts … your dealings in the supernatural, they are simply making use of the tools you have to accomplish the goal set before you. But the captain is watching you, now. People have been flung overboard, and talk is you are responsible." Reina stepped in close, grabbed Udina by the chin and pulled him forward, close enough to smell the marmite on his rancid breath. "Honesty is your best defense now."

"Jack Harper." Udina pulled away, all trace of a smile gone. "Some ex-Overseer. The Outsider gave him a bloody mark, for all the good it did him. I helped him escape."

 _A marked Overseer._ Reina breathed deeply. _So it is true. The first in history. Boyle must be livid._ But no, that was not right. _No … he must be terrified._

"Saved a bunch of his friends up at the Abbey, and they wanted to lynch him for it." Udina snorted. "Fanatics, the lot of them. From what I've heard, he saved the lives of over a hundred people, turning that attack aside."

"Why did you help him?" asked Reina, genuinely curious. _You seem a rather self-interested creature, Donnel._

"When's the last time we had someone marked with the Outsider running around?" Udina shrugged. "A worthwhile asset to the Guild, assuming we could get him off world. Which we did. He's on board the _Cerberus_ now, as I am sure you already suspect. But I couldn't tell you where it's going, or what its name and registration will be when it makes port."

"Jack's the one I want." Reina's fingers tapped against the stool, one at a time. "Tell me … what is he hoping to accomplish? Why did he accept the mark? What does he intend to do with it?"

"He saved his people. That's all he wanted." Udina shrugged. "And he didn't feel like having a brand rammed in his face and spend the rest of his days begging in a gutter. He ran for his life."

"So he is no threat to the empress?" asked Reina, watching Udina's every facial movement, every twitch of the eye, every quiver of the mouth.

"I can't imagine why he would be." Udina met Reina's gaze steadily, unblinking. "Unless you gave him reason. He just wants to live."

 _And I can give him a reason to live._ Reina cast one lingering glance back at the door, wondering what the High Overseer would say if he were here. _So, we have a man loyal to his friends and bereft of motivation beyond "run." And, coincidentally, he can also bend time and space._

"Put me in contact with him," said Reina. "The Whaler's Guild are not the only ones who could use him as an "asset.""

* * *

"I am no diplomat," Desolas mumbled again as the asari ambassador, Tevos, adjusted his collar again without warning or concern for his personal space. "I laid waste to this colony, ambassador, for that is my purpose."

"And now you will apologize for it," said Tevos firmly, taking a step back and looking Desolas up and down while the salarian representative looked on dispassionately. Desolas felt a dull and clumsy thing next to the immaculately pressed and ruffed peach naval dress Tevos wore, despite having been given his own ceremonial attire. Even the sword they had provided (purely cosmetic – it had likely never tasted blood), complete with golden hilt and scabbard running with long-dead turian scripts spelling out the Commandments, paled in comparison to the (equally ceremonial) Kahje pearl-handled pistol protruding from a resplendent holster beneath Tevos's left breast (whose quality Desolas could not comment on, but would hazard a guess that it was very high.)

"I only followed orders." Desolas did not say this with much conviction, however. The Primarch's instructions had been clear: heed the Council; he would handle the Ecclesiarch. _If an apology will allow me to leave this place without being forced to engage an asari task force…_

The shuttle consisted of little more than a cabin with three passengers and two pilots, leading back into a small wooden cargo hold currently bereft of any cargo. The pilots, a pair of asari almost as well-dressed as their ambassador, worked a series of glowing orange haptic screens and stiff wooden levers as they prepared to disembark from the main asari vessel. They murmured to one another and occasionally barked a status report through a comm, leaving the salarian as the sole silent spectator.

The salarian stood off to the side, leaning against the cabin wall with arms folded, pink skin illuminated by the flickering ship interface before them. His rank and intentions were unknown, having simply identified himself as "Kel," likely a drastic shortening of whatever hellish naming conventions his family had forced upon him. A single stylized version of a salarian three-fingered hand adorned the breast upon his green and white clothing, marking him as a servant of the Union, even though he had no title. All Desolas knew, aside from the salarian's name, was that he moved with an economy and surety of movement that did not come from training as an ambassador.

 _Makes you wonder what his hands look like under those gloves …_ but Desolas tried to shake off that thought. The salarians would not have been foolish enough to send an agent of the Outsider (assuming such rumors were true) with Inquisitor Harrow present nearby. As if sensing Desolas's thoughts, the salarian stared back coolly, long fingers tapping against his slim arms. Desolas felt a slight chill.

"Vector set, ground teams confirm docking clamps are compatible." The asari pilot gave a thumbs up to her co-pilot before turning to the three of them. "Ready when you are, ma'am."

"The Goddess wills it," replied Tevos, making Desolas shake his head internally. _There is only the Outsider you fools._ Tevos glanced at the two of them, as if asking for their agreement, not that it mattered. The salarian waved a hand airily. Desolas grunted. _Time to see firsthand just where I sent so many to die._

Desolas sighed as the ship shook, the tethers coming away from the hull above. The pilots activated a flickering blue viewscreen (likely only for the benefit of the passengers), revealing the blue-gray of the planet below, as well as the slivers of silver above its orbit. Glancing at the instruments, Desolas could not help but note their flight path would take them fairly close to the waiting human ships. _Surely they would not be so stupid as to set a trap._ Nothing would unite the twin asari and turian forces so fast as to see their diplomatic vessel blown out of the sky. _I would not die in panic or despair. More mild satisfaction and vindication._

"We are starting our approach." The asari pilot pulled down one of the higher intercoms, the curling wire stretching from the ship like some electronic intestine. "Shanxi docking authority, we are on our way. Requesting translator check."

"Administering check." A strange cough came from the other side of the radio, followed by a high voice. "What do we do with the drunken whaler? What do we do with the drunken whaler? What do we do with the drunken whaler, early in the morning?"

"It's a song about a drunken whaler," said Desolas, making both Tevos and Kel nod. _Asari translation technology … always impressive._ His eyes narrowed on the pilot, mind suddenly racing with possibilities. "Shall I sing something back?"

"Uh, that will not be necessary," said the asari, eyes darting nervously to Tevos before shifting back in place to her seat. "Shanxi, translators are good, we will land shortly." _Damn. I was hoping to shriek a battle hymn or three._

The three of them stared out the viewscreen while the pilots worked, making occasional course corrections as needed. After about a minute, the Empire's small defense fleet loomed up on the monitors, dominated by a single massive ship.

"They called it the _Apex Imperium_ ," said Kel, the first words he had spoken during the trip. He announced the information as if he were a bored tour guide. "If I were to hazard a guess, it is intended to house their empress when traveling."

Its dark blue hull gleamed in the light of Shanxi's sun, its sides glistening with gold leaf and unreadable text. Its broadsides stretched across for what must have been almost three quarters of a mile, countless cannons protruding faintly from gaps in the armor. The entirety of the vessel shimmered with what must have been a truly enormous trans-eezo core, making Desolas wonder how many dreadnoughts it would take to breach. A single enormous tower rose from the center of the ship, ringed with guns at its base and stationed regularly up its sides, wires and cables running down from the midsection and stretched taut. _Looks like a broadcast center. Yes, this would seem to be some kind of vast mobile propaganda vessel._ Desolas still did not fancy his chances with less than three dreadnoughts.

"Only the _Destiny Ascension_ is larger," said Tevos, sounding more amused than anything. "I wonder … how many of these do you think they have?"

"One," said Desolas and Kel in unison, prompting a snort from the salarian. "Don't expect them to be forthcoming with that information."

"Hmm," replied Tevos, lifting a finger to her mouth as if in thought. Desolas thought he detected the edges of a rather smug smile from behind the raised digit.

The rest of the ships did not impress, looking like little more than the common blocks of wood and metal that Desolas was used to, the largest stretching for at most about 800 meters. They all looked considerably more beaten in terms of appearance than the _Apex_. _Likely because they have actually seen some action._

The dark gave way to gray trimmed with orange as the shuttle broke through atmo. The cloud layer below looked impressively thick, marking a truly dreary day for official first contact. Desolas sighed and prayed it would not at least rain. _Duty Ascendant. This unpleasantness will pass. And the Ecclesiarch cannot fault me for adhering to the will of the Primarch, not when an Inquisitor backs his words._

"Auto docking protocols engaged," said the radio, a shrill whistle following the statement. "All hail Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin, second of her name. You are reminded to be on your best behavior during your stay in Shanxi."

"Best behavior," said Tevos, eyeing Desolas and making him grin savagely. "They are still feeling the sting of your guns. We don't want them to return the favor … and we don't want them running to the batarians. Understand?"

"Say little," said Kel, eyes fixed on the swirling cloud line as they made their descent. "Listen much."

The clouds broke to reveal the gray-green of a deep ocean. Desolas felt that familiar knot in his stomach at the sight of open waters, a sick sensation in his gizzard that all turians instinctively felt at the prospect of being caught in the deep. _Unlike the rest of you, we were not sailors of the sea first._ The asari and salarian did not seem perturbed by the ocean below.

"There it is." A colony blanketed by smoke, its untouched buildings looking weather-beaten even next to the ruins of their neighbors. The city appeared constructed primarily of brick and the same blue metal as before, its docks made more of the latter than the former before giving away to the stone. The entirety of the city seemed to be built on two hills, one topped by the building where the Outsider's agent had been seen, the other by a vast estate. The rest of the city slouched into these hills as if using it as a particularly neglected backbone, the houses and streets slanting gradually upwards away from the sea.

"Used to coastal regions," said Kel, still refusing to move from his vantage point leaning against the wall. "Prefer them, even. They chose to settle here and three other locations, and none of them were any great distance inland. I can see ships upon the waters as well." Kel's lip curled. "I wonder how many can become starships at will, and fly with the whales?"

Desolas grunted, hoping it were not too many. Part of him still refused to believe he had seen that report, of a lumbering tub transforming into an agile whaling vessel and slipping away in a pod of vicious Spicers. It indicated a greater engineering proficiency – and madness – within this species than he was willing to contemplate.

They now topped the city, their ship clanking as it began its steady descent. The pilot and docking authority exchanged information in a relaxed manner, putting Desolas on edge as he realized how comfortable the asari were becoming over all of this. Kel merely watched from his corner. The shrill sound of some instrument blared over the city, piercing the inside of the shuttle.

 _Duty Ascendant._ Desolas gritted his teeth. _Linger not on the arduousness of the task before you, but rather on the satisfaction of having fulfilled one's duty in the face of a hostile universe. There is nothing so noble in its pointlessness as a hard task accomplished without any possibility of being rewarded for it._

The shuttle ground to a halt, tethers doubtless being fixed to the hull as Desolas waited, hand fixed on the hilt of his entirely combat-unworthy blade despite himself. Kel watched his every movement, obviously unimpressed.

"Well," said Tevos, clapping her hands together. "Let's get this all sorted out then. Shall we?"

With a brisk sweep of the hand, she motioned for Kel and Desolas to fall in behind her, something Desolas could not help but appreciate. They strode into the small cargo hold together, the ramp already lowering. Bright light tinged with all too much smoke greeted them, making Desolas wince at its intensity. Shrill instruments greeted them.

Two vast lines of armed humans lay before them, eyes front, weapons resting against their shoulders, the redness of their clothing broken only by the leather harnesses and belts strapping their pistols and scabbards to their breasts and waists. A single human waited for them at the base of the ramp, his face covered in gray fur, his shoulders broad and thick like a krogan's. He watched them descend with teeth exposed, the facial expression unfamiliar to Desolas. He did not like it.

 _They look so much like him …_ Desolas could still barely get over it. The same shape of the limbs, the same presence of fur atop the skull (although he saw the colors were not all the same as the Outsider's), the same pale, smooth flesh. It would have been enough to send a Palvanus into convulsions.

"Shun!" bellowed the human, making Desolas's heart jump and making the group pause. As one, the humans in line brought their feet up and repositioned them, creating a cacophony of stamping feet. _Ah. A drill command. Likely done purely for effect._ Desolas could not deny that he would likely have done something similar under the same circumstances. The human still had teeth exposed, tinged with yellow on the white. The three of them stopped before the human at the ramp's edge, just feet away.

"Samuel Murphy, Royal Protector," said the human maintaining his distance. "I will be escorting you to the courthouse where the Empress has deigned to speak with you." He inclined his head, a gesture Desolas could understand. He could also recognize the stiffness, and the way the man's head craned slightly to keep an eye on them.

"Ambassador Tevos, of the Asari Republics," said Tevos clearly, words vanishing into the stony silence. "Thank you for meeting with us. I look forward to speaking with your empress."

"Kel, of the Salarian Union." Kel said nothing more, instead staring steadily at Samuel Murphy, who glared back. Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming.

"General Desolas of the Turian Ecclesiarchy." The human's gaze became a good less friendly as he looked to Desolas, the glare turning to an outright glower. "We welcome the opportunity to negotiate." The stiffness of these words would hopefully not be caught by these new translators.

Murphy eyed him up and down for a moment, the teeth disappearing behind red, rubbery flesh. He turned back to his waiting human soldiers.

"Arms to the present!" The soldiers snapped their free hand to their guns and brought the rifles forward. To Desolas, it looked as if a large group of humans were offering him a sea of weaponry to take for himself. _This damn well better be a sign of respect._ Tevos certainly seemed to think so, nodding. "With me, please."

They passed through the sea of silent brandished steel without speaking. A large stone building, parts of it held up and braced by freshly applied wood, stood before them, taller than the surrounding structures. From windows and from beyond the waiting lines of soldiers, dirty, dusty, bloody faces looked onward at these three curious aliens, many of them with their own teeth bared. Not one of them spoke, however.

Desolas took the time to take in the soldiery at either side of him. They varied greatly in size and varied only slightly in color. Some had browned skin, upon closer inspection, a few had chest protuberances similar to the asari's. None stood at a height with Desolas, but a few drew close, while others fell far below. Their weaponry looked to be mass-produced but well-maintained, a far cry from the asari's personalized kit but closer to what Desolas was familiar with. The familiar hum of shields could be heard beneath the footfalls, confirming a rough parity in protection. Dull gray armor plated their shoulders, while rounded metal helmets covered their heads, leaving only the face exposed.

The unexpected brightness of the sun only served to illuminate the sheer amount of dust in the air. Everywhere Desolas looked beyond the assembled troops and gathered crowd, he saw only partially mitigated destruction. _My doing. And they all know it._ Their resemblance to the Outsider did not help matters. At any moment, Desolas could not help but wonder if one of them would appear before him, hand glowing, a blade in hand…

But there was nothing. Just the crunch of feet on gravel. The building loomed, and the line of troops stopped at the stairs upwards. With a grunt, Murphy began his ascent, and the three of them followed. The scent of smoke lay heavy in the air.

The building itself reminded Desolas of the churches back home, only less angular and more rounded. The humans had taken some time on aesthetics in the place of pure function, and appeared unconcerned with exposure to their wretched sun, may it one day be chained. The stone lay thick at least, firmly anchored to the ground. Desolas found himself nodding in slight approval. The windows, however, looked far too numerous and flimsy. A few were already broken and boarded.

As the burning sun and gray skies disappeared in favor of a high roof, dull murmuring could be heard above the now softer footfalls. Past the empty desk of the lobby came a high and open room, a single throne on a raised platform before them, a single figure atop that throne.

Other humans, softer looking, clad in colorful clothing and bereft of armor or weaponry, sat to either side of them on wooden stands, looking down at the aliens with wide and curious eyes. _Like being stared at by a horde of Outsiders…_

The human above, presumably the empress, wore a comparatively simple outfit of black, fitted with a high color of white. The fur she wore seemed to be tied up somehow, sitting neatly atop her head in what must have been a state of high tension. She lacked the same paleness of the Outsider and the Royal Protector, and her eyes lacked any of the blackness, for which Desolas was grateful. _If they did worship him, one would expect their empress to be touched … but the Inquisitor reported nothing, and her hands are exposed and unblemished._

Two lower seats sat around the highest, each filled by another male. One of them, on the left, wore an adorned mask, his attire in crimson. Desolas felt the back of his neck prickle as his eyes met the eyes behind that metal.

The Royal Protector stopped and bowed deeply, with none of the stiffness from before. He turned to the assembled humans and Council ambassadors with a fierce look on his face.

"All rise for Empress Elizabeth Kaldwin, second of her name!" The humans around them rose from their chairs, and Desolas found himself standing just a bit more at attention than before. He understood the word "empress" after all.

"Be seated," said the empress, apparently done with ceremony already. She stared down at the three of them.

"Before you, your majesty, are Tevos of the Asari Union," Tevos bowed in imitation of Murphy, "Kel of the Salarian Union," to Desolas's surprise, Kel followed suit, "and General Desolas of the Turian Ecclesiarchy." Desolas bowed, wondering how many people in the room hated him. It was only understandable after all.

"I hope you understand that part of me is pained to see you standing here," said the empress after a moment's pause. "I look upon this city and see ruin. I look upon its people and see suffering. I look upon your faces and feel rage. You stand here when so many others cannot after the attack. So the first question I will ask is why. Why have you done this?"

"It was my doing." General Desolas stepped forward, unwilling to let Tevos blunt his words. The asari were circuitous in negotiation, and would do a poor job explaining the Ecclesiarchy. More likely, she would also throw in the odd insinuation or stealthy insult as well. "Or rather, my people's. One of our whaling vessels came under attack by your ships."

Desolas paused as the crowd reacted, but the empress only brought her hands together and waited for further explanation. The man on the right, clad in a mix of golds and whites, looked as if he were poised to pounce, his teeth gleaming. Desolas tried to ignore him.

"Our whalers slew a number of yours during a failed boarding action. The bodies were brought back to me." Desolas could see Tevos twitching out of the corner of his eye, knowing she wanted to take a different tack to what he was doing. It was delicious to see her squirm. "I looked upon their bodies and saw the Outsider, the entity that has plagued our dreams and nations for over a thousand years."

"The Outsider?" snapped the man in the mask, his voice a crack of the whip. "What do you know of him? Why do you speak his name?"

"Pale of flesh, topped with fur, black of eyes," said Desolas, his mind flashing back to his encounter with the wretched being. "Visions of whales drifting in an endless void, their songs mixing with the howls of an empty wind. You should know him. You all resemble him."

The masked man stood, shaking with some kind of intensity but Desolas sensed it was not anger. If anything … it looked like revelation.

"Your majesty, his bounds stretch beyond our realms," said the masked man, voice tremulous with excitement. "These aliens are plagued with his influence the same as us! Long have we known, through careful study, that the stories of the Outsider taking the form of a woman, of a winged serpent, of a many-toothed whale, they have all been fancy. And now these aliens have seen him, known of him, for millennia!"

"And so when you saw us…" The empress narrowed her eyes. "You saw him. A shock, I can only imagine."

"Yes, your majesty," said Desolas, and Tevos nodded in approval at the added honorific. "A shock. A most unwelcome one. With the blessing of the Palvanus, our people's bulwark against the Outsider, we began a cleanse of what we saw as a manifestation of his influence."

"We are no manifestation of his influence!" The masked man's voice rose to a shout now, and the empress gave him a meaningful look. He quieted, voice turning cold and meaningful. "I … I mean … I am High Overseer Ramon Boyle, of the Abbey of the Everyman. We educate the Empire's peoples against the Outsider."

"I am Kel, a pontificator of the Mundane Faith, a similar organization," said Kel, making Desolas start and eye him wearily. He had never before met an actual member of the salarians' oft-mocked church militant. "I suspect you have just as much cause as we to oppose him."

"And the asari have the Justicar order." Tevos cleared her throat. "This has all been a horrible misunderstanding … please. We have a thousand years of history with the Outsider, and very little of it pleasant. Elements of our societies overreacted."

"Overreacted." The empress stated the word coldly, let it hang in the air. "Without meaning blasphemy, what has the Outsider done to warrant the deaths of over four thousand people without warning?"

"Warlord Kredak and his infused horde," said Desolas without hesitation. "He granted his mark to a warlord of … a very violent people. The warlord passed a lesser version of his mark to first thousands, then millions. The galaxy burned, all because he granted his mark to one individual. The wrong individual."

"The League of One," said Kel, making Desolas start again. He had believed them only a legend. "An order of twelve salarians granted his mark. They worked for our government over a thousand years ago, until we met the asari. In the interests of establishing closer relations, their identities were revealed. The League disappeared without warning, and began murdering high-ranking government officials with their black magic. The Mundane Faith formed shortly after." Kel shrugged. "We cannot speak to the Outsider's nature, only that the power he offers is too easy to abuse."

Tevos did not speak at first, her hands fluttering. After a moment, she composed herself.

"We do not speak the name of the one we hunt, for she yet lives and listens," said Tevos in a low voice. "She is a demon, and the Justicar order hunts for her still. But the lives she has claimed number in the tens of thousands – this one asari! If the Outsider's nature was truly ambiguous, she would never have been granted his mark."

That made Desolas pay attention and wish more was forthcoming, but to be frank, he did not want her name spoken either.

"There have been many other problems," continued Tevos, trying to regain her composure. "The bone charms people carve, empowered by his will, are banned in our space for the safety of our citizens … and these new "wire charms" seem to be even more destructive, even actively malignant. His shrines attract vermin and disease. His magics draw the interest of criminals in pursuit of power. I am sure this is all familiar."

"All too familiar," said the empress, glancing down at the High Overseer, whose gaze remained fixed upon Desolas, who shifted uncomfortably. "It nevertheless does nothing to alleviate the suffering of the people you have hurt. It does nothing to restore the people you have slain."

"We cannot pretend to understand the grief you must all endure," said Tevos, making Desolas grit his teeth as she pointedly did not look at him. "We can first, offer our apologies…" Then, she _did_ look at him.

The bile rose in Desolas. _S_ _tone Mind. Linked Arms. Outstretched Talons. Downcast Eyes. Duty Ascendant._ None of them mentioned making apologies for following the faith too vigorously. He had only done his duty to the best of his ability, and then stopped when instructed. Nevertheless, they all looked to him, Kel, Tevos, the empress, all of these Outsider spawn…

"I will ask the Ecclesiarchy to offer reparations," was the best Desolas could come up with in all honesty. Perhaps one day a true apology would be forthcoming. Tevos frowned, but the empress nodded.

"I trust you will follow through." The empress paused, eyes flicking to elsewhere in the room. When Desolas looked, he saw only blank faces, but Kel seemed to pick up on something, turning his head repeatedly to glance at someone in the crowd. For whatever reason, this also began to agitate the Royal Protector.

"Your majesty," said the High Overseer, "if I may speak?"

"You may, High Overseer."

"These beings, if they speak the truth, are clearly beings of reason." The High Overseer remained collected this time. "They study natural philosophy as we do. They reject the vile influences of the Outsider, as we do. They hunt whales, as we do. It is clear we have much in common. In the interests of avoiding further conflict and bolstering ourselves against the Outsider, it is clear we should unite. To what extent, I cannot say, but if we can just overlook this initial transgression…"

"Your brothers died on that hill, High Overseer," said the Royal Protector, his voice a growl. "You seem rather keen to forget that."

"Whatever his origin, the Outsider clearly spawned from us," snapped back Boyle. "Our punishment is deserved, and nothing will be gained from prolonging the conflict."

"We cannot be held responsible for whatever vile events brought the Outsider into being all those years ago," said the empress, eyes flicking to the aliens. No? We still punish the krogan for their transgressions. You might wish to rethink that. "It cannot be overlooked; we will have recompense. And an official apology." The empress stopped, clearly in thought. "But … I am told we attacked first?"

The man on her right coughed, suddenly shaking.

"I am afraid that would have been two of Shanxi's whaling vessels, the Curmudgeon and the Corvo's Whiskers." The man glanced at the three of them. "Henry Lawson, Duke of Shanxi. You have to understand that they had been hunting that pod for over a month at that point, and were unwilling to relinquish it to unknown invaders. You were technically within our space."

Desolas stared the Duke down with disappointing ease, the man turning away almost immediately when Desolas locked eyes with him. _Outstretched Talons. You attacked us out of greed._

"This will be brought into consideration," said the empress, icier than a comet. "In the interests of, at the very least, insuring whaling routes are properly mapped out between our nations, I suppose it would be best if we at least took a look at your…"

"Citadel," said Tevos clearly. "All relays lead to the Citadel, where we make our home. It is the base of our Inquisitors, the cross-species program that hunts down servants of the Outsider and executes them. It is the base of our united governments, who oversee over a third of the known galaxy … and it is the largest port there is, where all goods can be exchanged."

 _Greed. Greed drives many of them._ Desolas could see it in their eyes. Not the empress's, nor the Royal Protector's, but so many of those around them. Greed for wealth. Greed for knowledge. Greed for power. He did not sense the Abbey to have nearly a strong of a hold on its people as the Palvanus did on his. _But it can be taught. We dragged the volus screaming into the fold after the Devastation of Irune, the fools. We pushed the batarians out. They will learn._

Desolas looked upon the High Overseer and, even through the mask, knew the man was thinking the exact same thing.

 _One of yours turned to the Outsider. We both know it. Your people forget your teachings. We both see it._

 _It is time for a purge. The galaxy needs it._

* * *

 **A/N: Hellish term, still an inexcusable wait. Expect some more updates over the next two weeks. This is basically a background chapter I originally did not plan on including, but I felt the need to flesh out the setting more due to a few reviews. There will be one more chapter after this one, then I will feel comfortable doing a time skip and getting to the meat of the story. After the next chapter, it's going to be more or less all Jack's perspective from that point, if I keep to the plan.**


	4. Wandering Gaze

The chair felt flimsy under Jack's weight, the wood too thin and weak at places to bear a full-grown man. With Jack's every motion it creaked, encouraging stillness. With the ship's every motion it creaked, encouraging calm nerves. Jack sought distraction where he could, trying not to look upon the looming white door.

 _Restrict thine wandering gaze …_ but the words felt dead to his mind. With a quick flick of the eyes to the door, Jack looked pointedly away. He lifted his gloved left hand to his face, the mark burning. With a dull bloom of embarrassment and shame rising in his chest, Jack swept two fingers before his eyes. In their passage, the world changed.

Jack's vision turned a faint blue, like how an artist might paint a scene from underwater; everything visible, but the colors subdued. Faint whispers gnawed at Jack's ears, Void-forsaken echoes whose origin Jack did not care to guess. The hidden wires and tubing buried beneath the wood and metal veneer of the ship ran with a cold azure heat, blooming forth from the now transparent walls and floors. And of course, there were the people.

Everyone on the ship glowed with an inner fire, their gaze casting forth a cone of vision that Jack could not help but marvel at. Their beings blazed a fierce yellow, burning intensely within the cold by simply existing. Even the humblest of sailors scrubbing the decks above, backs aching, prospects unexciting, shone with heat. With light. _We are all stars, here in the cold. We stand out from the crude matter…_

The boatswain gesticulated before a grim-faced captain, words unheard through three thick walls. Two whalers coupled roughly in a bed directly above Jack, prompting another bloom of embarrassment and shame as he turned away, trying to dismiss the urge to look on. Two whalers hacked away at the remnants of the mass of meat still clinging to the ship, the whirring saws held tight in gloved hands. And, of course, there were the bone charms.

Swinging from leather thongs tied around whaler's necks, hanging from belts hidden under the thick coveralls, scattered and secured under and within desks and cabinets … the entire vessel stank of desperate superstition. Through his enhanced vision, the bone charms emitted twisting green smoke, beckoning Jack to relieve the whalers of their most prized possessions when they least expected it. _Bones to bring them luck. Bones to shield harm._ Part of Jack shrank away in revulsion at what he saw … but their songs gnawed at his ears, called him forward. _They belong to me, more than anyone else on this vessel._ Nevertheless, Jack remained still, waiting.

Now through the white door, the surgeon approached.

Jack swept the two fingers before his eyes again, and the world returned to normalcy, the whispers fading. Jack stood as the door opened, hands joining together in front of him despite himself. They squeezed as his teeth gritted. The ship's surgeon blinked in slight surprise as he opened the door to find Jack already standing.

"Well, he's not dead." Jack caught the faint slur in the man's voice, the whiff of spirits on his breath. His chest began to tighten. "But, uh, I'm more used to sawing off legs than performing skin grafts. His face…"

"Show me."

The surgeon grimaced, the pencil mustache on his face wiggling like a caterpillar caught in a bird's beak. He stood aside as Jack made for the door, his hands shaking. Jack's insides roiled, fists balling as he passed through the short and spare hallway into the equally unadorned surgery room.

Sure enough, a bottle of half-drunk Serkonan rum sat next to a stained tray filled with questionably sharp tools, most of which were still stained with reddish brown blood. Oleg raised his bandaged head from the gurney he lay upon as Jack surveyed the room, face contorting with rage at the sight of the bottle, of the tools, of Oleg's bandaged face.

"Tell me, friend," said Jack, voice quivering, refusing to turn towards the undoubtedly cowering surgeon behind him, "are you paid to drink while performing surgery?"

"My hands. They shook." The surgeon's voice shook, too, and Jack smiled to hear it. "The work was delicate and precise, not the usual hack jobs, transfusions, or splinting. His face…"

"They do not inflict wounds meant to heal, Jack," said Oleg, head turning clumsily, his single visible eye fixing on Jack's face. He too, slurred his words. "No heretic shall be shielded from the Abbey's sight … as it should be."

Jack stared at Oleg, who smiled ruefully back at him. Slowly, so slowly, the fists unclenched, but Jack still did not turn.

"Get out."

The surgeon obeyed without a word, and Jack closed the door smartly behind him as he entered, resting gripping one of Oleg's hands and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Skin grafts, Jack … honestly." Oleg coughed weakly, his face contorting in pain as he did so. "I am marked until the end of my days … as are you, in a different fashion. Would that I could fit my head in a glove and yet breathe. Do not fault an underpaid whaler surgeon. He is more accustomed to the cleaver than the scalpel."

"If I had arrived sooner…" Jack thought back to Shanxi. _If I had … cut down those who sought to kill us … it would only have been right. Oleg would be standing beside me on the deck instead of Miranda, and we would be laying out plans instead of sharing an uncomfortable silence…_

"You arrived just late enough for the citywide alert to be meaningless, just early enough that I had not been brought before the High Overseer, and you did not slay a one of our former brothers." Oleg returned the squeeze weakly. "All it cost was a rather unsightly blemish … and some temporary discomfort on my part."

"Why did you do this?" It had been nagging at Jack since the very moment David had pressed a blade to his neck. By all rights, by all the Abbey's laws, his life was far more forfeit than the invaders. They had simply followed whatever base impulses caused them to attack – the mathematics they inflicted upon the city were a clear indication they were no Outsider servants, if nothing else. _Not like me._ He stared down at his gloved hand, wrapped around Oleg's frail exposed one.

"The Abbey is many things." Oleg paused, thought for a moment. "It is … a weapon against the Outsider. A shield for the Empire's people and government. But to me, it was always a brotherhood, where men would share the same miseries and grow strong from them. Hatred of the unnatural was drilled into us from the moment we arrived at Whitecliff, but my love for those who showed me kindnesses was always stronger." Oleg shrugged. "Had anyone else done what you had did, accepted his mark to save us, my reaction would have been the same. It was clearly a sacrifice … and you were unwilling to resist until I told you to run."

"This world has too few men like you." Jack gripped Oleg's hand just a bit more tightly. "And … I would make you even more extraordinary. To protect you." His mark burned, the light shining through the glove.

"Would you?" Oleg's free eye darted down to his hand. Jack expected the same sensation from before, of tendrils of himself reaching out and enveloping the hand, changing the flesh. But nothing happened. "You would have us become two heretics in full, both mind and body altered through his influence?" Oleg smiled a sad smile. "I think not, Jack."

"You will wear the Heretic's Brand upon your face until the end of your days, Oleg." Jack furrowed his brow, brought his face close to Oleg's. "This would even the odds, better your chances-"

"I have you for that." Oleg pulled his hand away, flexed his stiff fingers. "Jack … you took his mark, knowing you would likely die for it. This was balanced against saving the lives of everyone in that building. If I accepted that mark … what is it balanced against? Whose lives am I saving. My own?" Oleg laughed, a dry wheeze painful to hear. "Not enough. Not nearly enough. I will have no part of him, even if it is only secondhand."

Jack retracted his own hand, feeling filthy and wrong. The mark grew dim beneath his glove, but its shape still glowed within his retinas after fading. Jack nodded, breath feeling funny in his throat without him fully understanding why. _In a way … he is refusing to be dragged down to my level. He accepts the status of heretic without any of the privileges …_ the bottle of Serkonan rum suddenly looked enticing rather than enraging.

"There will be others, I am sure." Oleg shrugged. "But not overseers, I think. I am yours, Jack, as long as you will have me. We are brothers still, as far as I am concerned."

"…thank you." Jack only half-meant it. He turned away from Oleg, shutting his eyes and trying to control the sudden throbbing in his temples. "The captain is handing off her cargo to another whaling vessel tomorrow, just outside capital space. Then we're bound for the Rim. Intai'sei, specifically."

"Right on the edges." Oleg sniffed. "Well? Have you given some thought on what to do once we're there?"

"Work with the whalers." It was the best Jack had at that moment. "If there is war, find some way to contribute. As you said, my … gift … can only be justified by saving the lives of others." _You can do anything, he told me._ "There are also … other talents I have yet to realize within myself. I plan on hunting for runes. It will let me protect you and Miranda better." _And now I must root through the city, digging up the shrines buried within the filth._ Jack shivered despite himself. Oleg reached out with a shaking hand, and Jack clasped it without hesitation.

"Whatever else might be said, you had the best of intentions from the very beginning." Oleg's single eye locked with Jack's. "Do not doubt yourself just because I cling to a few of the teachings. Do what you feel is best. We will follow."

* * *

Reina Azerah made a point of avoiding the salarian.

The asari she met, Tevos included, would smile and comment on the way she wore her "hair" (the way they said the word with such unfamiliarity … still, it had not taken them long to stop calling it fur) or sometimes ask her strange and seemingly asinine questions about her shoes or choice of trousers. It was easy to hear where the questions grew more pointed and less innocuous, and it was also easy to maintain her cover as a simple servant for the Abbey, growing airheaded and vague on certain matters, or pretending to misunderstand entirely.

The handful of turians were even simpler. They would stiffen at her approach, hands twitching towards their pistols and sabres. Reina would greet them timidly, they would grudgingly reply, and she would go about her business. Truth be told, the way their demeanor seemed torn between pants-shitting fear and mouth-frothing rage at her mere appearance sent up all manner of alarms. Her neck prickled every time she turned her back to them … but they never did anything more than act stiff, angry, and very occasionally confused.

The salarian, however. The salarian would only watch with his large lizard eyes, usually over a book of some kind, face devoid of any expression she could recognize. It would not have been so difficult to deal with in small amounts … but every time Reina left her cabin, she would inevitably find the salarian leaning against some corner, languidly reading a book with one hand and eating fruit with the other, eyes flicking to Reina for just a moment before returning to the task at hand … but Reina knew her every movement was being watched, and that this "Kel" had singled her out. Moreover, he did not seem to sleep.

Her partner in crime, the official "representative" for the Empire, was of little help.

"I do this for the Empress and for the Abbey," Ramon Boyle had said, knuckles gripping tightly against his pen as he wrote out yet another report in impressive, flowing cursive. "I understand your importance … but these deceptions shame us, and will win us no friends. Could you at least contain your prowling until we arrive at the Citadel?"

"We need to learn everything we can," said Reina, folding her arms and staring Boyle right in the mask. "The fact that they hate the Outsider just as much as y- as we do is of scant comfort when we resemble him. We need to make sure that this is not a ploy, and that we do not end up exploited through our own beliefs."

"I have seen into the hearts of these turians, Reina." Ramon turned from his writing and stared her down, the mask appearing to snarl in the candlelight. "I have not found them lacking. I will leave the judgment upon their allies to you, and I will not assist in your little game. The Abbey has already jeopardized its character for the good of the Empire. It will not do so again just for you."

 _Jeopardized its character …_ if he were not so integral to her plans, Reina would have sniggered at him. Even aboard an alien vessel, bound for distant and virtual shores, Overseer Boyle remained primarily concerned with maintaining the Abbey's image. The pretense of him and his requiring a servant for the voyage had not gone over well, and the soreness of the deception apparently remained still.

"Servants are for those with restless hands," Boyle had remarked with an unusual sharpness, especially considering he was addressing the Empress. "The Abbey's bricks were laid by the overseers. Overseers kept its gardens. Overseers swept its halls. We have no need…" And so he droned on. But it was not about his need, but the Empire's. He had at least conceded that point with some mild grace.

But he refused to be of further assistance, so Reina played a game of hide and seek with the bleeding salarian, doing her best to "accidentally" overhear conversations between aliens as they spoke to one another, an irritatingly infrequent occurrence. She suspected they were on strict orders to remain as tight-lipped as possible to the guests on board their vessel.

All too often, Reina found herself returning to her quarters just to review her notes, most of which involved what she would do upon her return. Jack Harper remained at large – the _Cerberus_ had wisely avoided making port on the homeworld – and contacting the man the Citadel's Inquisitors hunted for even now seemed unwise given the circumstances. Nevertheless, contacting the man remained a top priority … upon her return.

The rest of her notes split down the middle on either observations of the aliens … or of the Abbey. The aliens, at least, had proven surprisingly easy to deal with, suspiciously so. Even if they opted to betray the Empire's trust, something Reina found increasingly unlikely, all they would earn was the High Overseer (easily replaced as he himself would admit), seven warfare overseers … and Reina. She probed for the hollow molar with her tongue at this thought. _All I have to do is bite down hard, and then the aliens have eight seconds to interrogate me. We should be fine._ If anything, the latter group kept proving the greater cause of alarm.

 _The general brought five turians bearing masks of dull gray steel today. "Palvanus"_ _I heard them called. For many hours they conversed with the High Overseer and his seven men, their tones urgent and conspiratorial. They did not act as men of different species who, only days ago, cut each other apart on the streets of Shanxi…_

"Fanaticism breeds swift solidarity," said Reina aloud, staring at the bare ceiling above her quarters, fit only for a servant. _Murphy would have put that better … less poetic, but more accurate._

"Right fucking lunatics, the lot of 'em." _Sometimes you really do just have to play the piano really loudly._

As for the ship Reina lived upon, she could only guess at the design of its engines. She was no engineer, and what she could see of the vessel felt familiar enough in terms of design. It had been designed for bipeds of a similar height to humans, perhaps a bit shorter given the average size of the asari, who apparently saw in the same spectrum as they did. The hum of the engines sounded just the same. Despite the odd hull design of the asari ship, which inexplicably carried a massive hole in its center, the interior of the ship remained composed of familiar hallways, catwalks, and ladders, composed of the same mix of polished metal, shining wood, and occasional stretches of rubber.

With two exceptions. The first being the asari's strange love of the color purple, the second being their love of … ostentatious appearances. Judging from the reactions of the turians Reina had seen, the asari's impeccable style of dress and outright gaudy recreation and dining areas was unique to them alone, not the Citadel as a whole. Reina's first visit to the _Ventress's_ dining hall (yes, the cruiser had a dining hall) felt as surreal as if she had strode through the door to find herself overlooking a vista within the Void itself.

For one, soft indigo lighting shone from every electronic light and suffused the massive room with a gentle glow. Burnished copper candles decorated the walls, all of which sported myriad art pieces that displayed alien landscapes or impressionistic works of other (equally well-dressed, if distorted) asari. The burnished onyx dining table ran approximately eighty feet long, a staggering length given the typical economies of space within spacefaring vessels, let alone warships. And the asari themselves … had Reina less context, she would have thought them all officers, accustomed to luxurious privilege. But no, the rank and file bore the same smart caps, the same pearl-inlaid pistols (retired at the entrance in neat rows on a sweet-smelling rack), the same golden buttons running down unwrinkled waistcoats of crimson, lilac, and turquoise.

In a sense, it was intoxicating. The way the asari moved did not help either, each of them treading as if trained to dance rather than make war, light on their feet and slipping past one another in crowded hallways as if they were water rushing across stones in a river. They smelled so sweet too, enough to bring the blood to one's face … but in Pandyssia, the fruit that smelled the sweetest often contained the foulest poisons. _Look closer. See the splotches of purple on the petals there, the off-color of the orange skin…_

She had caught them at work in one of their training areas, ostensibly off-limits. Fortunately, she was "lost" and the incident blew over without too much concern. But she had seen them. Arms lifted, arms glowing a bright blue, lifting metal weights over their head without ever touching them, turning them in the air, crushing them, hurling them aside. _Dangerous. Far more dangerous than mere cunning. They can back their words with some kind of magics._ Not Outsider magic, though, Boyle could confirm that. But the confirmation was of no help. It just meant they would be even harder to understand.

"We dock with the Citadel today," one of them announced one "morning," voice chipper and harmless, poking her head through the door of her cabin with a toothy smile. "You have been invited to the bridge to look through the viewports. Just think, you will be making history, the first of your kind to see the Citadel!"

It was all true, of course, but the tone still reeked of condescension. _As if speaking to a child._ Nevertheless, curiosity still blossomed over just what this massive space port looked like. The closest the Empire had come to extra-planetary development were a handful of hollowed out asteroids on the Rim, most of which came with horrible reputations for piracy and heresy.

The walk up to the bridge hummed with far more activity than the days previous. Asari moved to and fro from post to post, most of them striding with purpose to their destinations. In side rooms, officers dressed in purple sharply addressed waiting gunnery crews who stood stiffly at their posts, while black-clad marines (or the closest equivalent) patrolled in groups of two, stopping to make regular reports over radio. Excitement hung heavy in the air, but Reina guessed most of it was directed at the impending shore leave rather than the formal first contact between mankind and the Citadel. _That's for Tevos to worry over._

On the bridge itself, however, humanity again became the center of attention. Her eight associates, all in masks, waited patiently for her arrival, flanked on either side by a combination of wiry salarians, opulent asari, and stiff turians. As Reina entered with only partially feigned hesitance, Kel finished typing something on an omniscroll before glancing over to her, still inscrutable.

"Just in time," said Tevos, smiling at Reina and beckoning her towards the nearest view port, which of course gleamed with golden trimmings on the frame. "We are making the approach now." She turned to her helmsman. "Slowly, now. Let them take in the sights."

Through the viewport, Reina could at first only see the distant swirling purple (sigh) clouds of a nebula. As the ship turned and angled itself, however, the engine slowing from a constant hum to a mild intermittent and muffled chug, some distant structure began to loom in the distance, surrounded by gleaming specks.

"All relays lead to the Citadel," said Tevos, pointing to the structure with an unwrinkled blue finger. "This is not the physical center of the galaxy; we're still working our way towards that … but it is the center of the relay system. The beating heart of our galactic government." Tevos smiled, but Reina sensed it was a smile intended for herself alone. "A heart of clockwork."

The distance closed, the swirling gases of the nebula losing their lustre as the station loomed larger. They passed by ships, some recognizably asari, others turian, a few unknown, all hanging in loose formation around the station. As for the station itself … well.

Again, Reina was no engineer, but she was familiar enough with what could be considered "feasible" when it came to constructing space stations and vessels. Past a certain size, the cost jumped so dramatically with each additional square foot that it became impractical to continue. Reina counted herself among the few who could list the exact cost of the _Apex Imperium,_ and it was never a cheering thought. Maintaining comfortable temperature, keeping the vacuum out, propelling the ship at reasonable speeds or keeping the station in orbit – costs could not be cut when it came to battling nature at her most unreasonably hostile.

Whoever built the Citadel had not received the memo. The Citadel grew larger … and larger … and larger in her vision, utterly swallowing up the already reasonably sized _Ventress_. Four arms surrounded, dazzling her vision with a multitude of lights, surrounded a distant sphere that bound all arms together in one station. Great swarms of ships big and small flew from glimmering port to glimmering port, bees dancing amidst splendid metal honeycomb. Tevos did not lie; this was a spaceport, the largest Reina could conceive of. _The clockwork heart of a galaxy._

"Its origin is unknown," said Desolas to his overseer entourage, all of whom watched with rapt attention. "There was a civilization here before us – the protheans – but there is considerable uncertainty regarding if they were its builders. The Citadel features its own race of custodians, the keepers, who make sure the clocks remain wound and all visitors comfortable. As the good ambassador said, the Citadel is composed of clockwork, and there are sects among the Palvanus who believe one day the bell will toll…" Desolas stopped, stiffening. Reina caught a nearby Palvanus give a sharp jerk of the head.

"…forgive me. This is not the time or place to discuss that. I am sure you understand."

"A time and a place for everything," replied Boyle, head turning slightly to catch Reina's eye out of the corner of his own mask. "I am eager to see the inside of this station."

Tevos clapped her hands together and smiled. "Then let's not waste any time. Shall we?"

Kel roused himself from the wall while the overseers and turians fell in line behind the asari. Reina, feeling almost forgotten, trailed after them. No one spoke. They simply marched through the now-emptied steel halls in tense anticipation. Reina's heart skipped a beat as they reached the (opulent) airlock, flanked by black-clad asari on either side.

"You will be met by the Citadel Council," said Tevos, striding to the door and turning to face them all. "The servant – Reina – will be escorted to appropriate lodgings by Kel while the rest of you meet. I do hope you find your stay pleasant – this was perhaps the worst way to be introduced to the galaxy proper, and I hope we can put it all behind us."

The casualty numbers from the dockside districts flashed through Reina's mind, click, click, click. The smoke rising from the city, corpses choking the streets. _She speaks like a choffing tour guide …_ Reina could not tell if Boyle, still and masked as he was, felt that same creeping dread she did, the sensation of being sucked into some smiling vortex, but she hoped so. _Be as friendly as you like with the turians, but pay close attention to the other two!_ She glanced at Kel, who stared pointedly at Tevos with arms folded. _At least I'll be rid of you, soon enough._

The airlock hissed, pistons gliding as the door unlocked. At last, with a click and the faint sound of metal grinding on metal, the airlock opened. The others filed forward, slight gasps escaping the masks of the overseers. _A pity I will be the last to see…_

The temperature changed as Reina crossed the threshold. Before, the air felt close and warm, a little stale, a natural consequence of tight quarters and recycled oxygen. As she stepped into the Citadel, everything … opened, became cooler. Reina suddenly realized she was holding her breath, and when she exhaled and sucked in, it all felt so … alive.

From above, the purple of the nebula could still be seen, making everything look neon. They stood on an enormous metal lip overlooking the boundless precipice below, chains and magnetic locks steadying the asari ship behind them. Elsewhere, likewise ledges jutted into the emptiness, other ships tethered to them by humming magnet and linked chain, attended by small hordes of maintenance crew. Hooks traveled overhead, great whales hanging upon them, their frozen carcasses departing into the bowels of the station.

Away from the splendid Nebula, the arm of the Citadel awaited. Beyond the waiting entourage of alien politicians and armed guards, light and life leaked from the station. From every dock, aliens both familiar and strange marched towards the humming energy beyond. Great gears ground above and beneath their feet, turning docks this way and that as needed, the bound ships following like baby razor geese.

Alone and unheeded, a single four-legged green creature turned a crank at the far end of the dock, its small green hands rotating the handle at a steady if unimpressive speed. At each dock Reina could see, more creatures like it bent to their own inscrutable tasks. No one else paid them any mind.

As for the politicians, Reina could not see through the wall of overseers that had subtly yet definitively formed around Ramon Boyle. Through the roar of the many engines and the groaning echoes of many dead and dying whales, Reina could not make out what they were actually saying, hearing only the muffled tail-end of shouted sentences. Nevertheless, the overseers shuffled forward in unison, and Reina hesitantly followed suit, gaze wandering all the while.

 _Whalers._ Even among other species, they were easily identifiable. They whistled to one another, called out drunken shanties, laughed as a docking tether came loose and sent one of their number sprawling. Just as their human counterparts, they wore full body suits that almost hid their alien natures, grasped strange-looking gaff hooks in their gloved hands. _And like our whalers, I suspect many of those suits are stained by old whale blood._ It felt oddly reassuring to know that these species would have at least something in common, even if it had already led to a conflict of interest and swift tragedy.

"And this is the servant?" asked a haughty-looking turian as Reina fell in line with the overseers, stopping them with a sudden raised palm. Unlike the other turians Reina had seen, this one wore robes of deep burgundy, with a face covered in heavy blue markings. "You will have little need of her here, I think. And this is not for her ears. One of yours will escort her?" The question was directed at Tevos, who nodded and prodded Kel forward. The salarian scowled at the turian, but nevertheless jerked his head at Reina, who followed.

While the rest of them followed the main pathway of the dock, Kel and Reina took stopped at a winding ramp that led below. The light darkened slightly as they strode under the main dock, bound for a glowing blue tube beyond. Another strange green creature worked a crank to its side. The grinding of gears grew louder.

Kel flipped the green switch to the elevator's right, and the glass doors slid open immediately. He gestured for Reina to enter, which she did, hesitantly, eyes on the salarian's hands at all times. The back of her neck prickled, but Kel followed her inside. The doors shut, and all outside sound ceased.

"Not to be rude, but you are no simple servant." Kel's eyes locked with Reina's, and she could not help but shrug in guilty acknowledgment. There was little point in lying at this stage. "An observer then, to be charitable? A spy, if not? Or perhaps a handler for the esteemed High Overseer?"

"There's no handling him," said Reina, meaning it in multiple senses. "I think he's thrilled to have found an entire species that shares his line of thinking."

"Not all turians are alike," replied Kel, but Reina sensed an implicit (and weary) agreement. "And I remind you that I, myself, represent my people's Mundane Faith, which seeks to combat malignant Void influences."

"To the same degree as the others?" asked Reina, wondering if she would end up plumbing more information from the salarian as an exposed spy than an undercover one.

"The Union is made of many houses, all of whom seek to gain an edge over the other." Kel licked his lips, frowning. "We are sometimes known as his "favorite people" for a reason. The Mundane Faith aims not to purge, only to contain. And even then, our efforts only extend as far as necessary to keep the turians from intervening."

The elevator clanked and whirred, suddenly shifting downwards. Bright lights and deep shadows went by in a blur, making Reina dizzy.

"I will be blunt – I am glad you are here, and I am glad you are no simple servant. Your High Overseer sees only what he wants to see." The salarian licked his lips again. "I would like to come to an understanding, and know that I speak as a representative of both my people and to some degree, the asari's. Just as you speak for your empress. To reach that understanding, I will answer your questions."

"Honestly?" asked Reina, shooting the salarian a sideways glance.

"With all the honesty I can muster, given my background and upbringing. I will decline to answer where I feel the urge to lie. I ask that you do the same."

"Agreed." Reina considered extending a hand, but thought better of it.

"I need to know the size of your fleets. How many, and how many ships?" Kel watched as Reina remained silent. "Very good. I would have been disappointed by an answer."

The elevator stopped, the doors opening to let bright white light shine in. Again, the breath vacated Reina's body in a sudden puff.

A great simulated blue sky above, vast rivers stretching along splendid paved pathways below. Flocks of what looked like white gulls flew by in great congregations above, their high and clear gulls muted by the sound of simulated wind and all too real running water. The clear air now tasted sweet in her mouth. She guessed few whalers ever set foot here.

"This would be the Presidium," said Kel, extending a hand and allowing Reina to pass. "The clockwork heart of the clockwork heart, as it were. Even as a "servant," this is where you will remain." Kel produced a small strip of cloth from a back pocket, proffering it before him. "I ask that you wear this, please. Until your species becomes a common sight here, I fear you will be mistaken for the Outsider. Hooded, it will be easy enough to be mistaken for an asari, given the similarities in physiology."

Reina accepted the hood with as much grace as she could muster, pulling it about her face with the blood rushing to her face. She pulled it down almost to her chin, keeping her head lowered. Kel nodded in satisfaction.

"It is quite a walk. I arranged it to be that way." Kel sniffed, turning and moving at a brisk pace. "Look. Listen. Ask."

"The asari," began Reina, "what is their stance on the Outsider?"

"The Outsider is male. The asari, universally, are not." Reina thought she caught a smirk at this. "They claim to have actual historical record of a time he did not exist, but this is still in dispute. The hanar – I will point one out when we see one – contest this in particular. The asari refuse to acknowledge the Outsider's total power. In recent years, even the old faith in their Goddess has rekindled, and the Temple of Athame is now host to many splendid gardens and works of art where it had long stood empty..."

Kel pointed to their right. Several pillars upheld a balcony above, beneath which a bustling marketplace gathered. Salarians, asari, and turians, yes, all of these hawked their wares and spoke to each other in a great hubbub of alien chatter, but there were others, too. A few elcor, always given a wide berth. And … floating purple creatures, tendrils hanging from a gelatinous body, four scabbards jutting from their form.

"That's a hanar. They come from an oceanic world." Kel sniffed. "Strange creatures. The turians suspect them of nigh constant heresy, and it is true that the oceans of their world hold many secrets, even buried civilizations whose bone charms remain potent to this day … but they are polite enough. If a bit inscrutable."

"The small ones?" Short, rotund creatures clad in full body respirators stood at many of the stalls, each inexplicably guarded by a glaring turian Palvanus.

"Volus." Kel sounded dismissive. "They tried to do something very unwise about five hundred years ago. Ruined most of their homeworld. The Ecclesiarchy holds dominion over them now. Most of them are forbidden to bear arms." Reina could not help but note that both the volus and their turian guards followed her movements with their head, as if seeing through the hood. The sound of grinding gears could be heard from above.

"Keepers," said Kel dismissively, as they passed another one of the green creatures, this one fiddling with a small mess of wires and cogs. "They maintain the station. They cannot speak. Most learn to ignore them over time."

Reina was not there yet, however. She watched the little green creature twist and reassemble the odd contraption and slot it into the hole in the wall before it. Then it padded off, its black multifaceted eyes dull and docile.

They continued along the waterside, many others passing them by without a second glance. Air carriages whizzed by above at such speeds that Reina could not help but wince. Yet, despite moving far faster than any carriage in the Empire could ever safely match and in far greater numbers to boot, no one else shared her anxiety. _So. They're keeping that well-managed._

Following along the trail of traffic did lead to something perplexing, however.

"What is that?"

Kel followed Reina's finger. "Ah. That." A vast clock embossed with unfamiliar symbols around its rim watched them from far above, attached to a great pillar of white that rose upward and out of sight. All of the hands, of which there were more than two, stood stiff and tall to the left of the clock. "Hundreds of years ago, that clock still ran. Then one day, it just stopped. It's been frozen like that for all of living memory, now. The keepers refuse to go near its workings."

Reina could not place why, but staring at those frozen hands filled her with tension, like a taut bowstring. It was if that tiny space between the final hour and where the hands lay were filled with an inscrutable menace. _What was it Desolas said about tolling bells?_

Nevertheless, they carried onward, although Reina could not quite shake that sense of unease from before. The clock followed her every motion. _That sounds mad. I won't be reporting that to the empress._

"The krogan memorial," said Kel shortly, waving an airy hand towards a vast marble statue of some angry-looking bipedal turtle creature rising from the water in a menacing pose. A creature that resembled it sat on a bench before it with its back to them. "In memory of a proud race, now gone to rot. It only has historical relevance now."

The real creature, a krogan, snorted and rose. Reina bowed her head immediately, but kept her eyes on the krogan as it rounded on them, revealing a scarred and yellowed face of leathery flesh, eyes of deep crimson, and far too many wide, blunt teeth. It tromped towards them, and Reina heard Kel heave a heavy sigh.

"Come to laugh at my ancestors' sacrifice, salarian?" The krogan's voice was low, low enough to be a growl. It turned its head this way and that, casting one eye first at Reina, then at the salarian. He sniffed. "Ah. Something new. Do you have time for a history lesson, alien? Or do you wish to join the others in denouncing my people as no longer "historically relevant?""

"She does not have time for this," said Kel, but Reina noticed the distance the salarian kept, as well as the slight note of panic. _This was not on the agenda. What lies beneath the Council? What does the iron fist look like beneath the smiles?_ Reina nodded hesitantly. The krogan grunted.

"See this?" The krogan turned to present its side, flexing its muscled left arm. Strange smoldering markings appeared along the triceps, the krogan tracing the smoking orange lines with a heavy finger from his other hand. "Our reward. Our curse. The Mark of the Eaten. From the inside, we are devoured. So sayeth the Council."

"You earned it several times over." Kel folded his arms and glared. "And … it was still a last resort, forced by the turians."

"Part virus. Mostly magic. Every krogan has it." The krogan smiled at Reina with absolutely no humor, the nail of his finger digging into the flesh now. "Slowly, it claims our race, drags us into the Void." The krogan grunted, jerked a head towards Kel. "Hypocrites, every one of them, condemning black arts until it becomes necessary to save their skins. The Outsider granted Kredak his mark, it's true, but what of the eight who stood against him? Those forgotten heretics? Three salarians, two asari, a volus, an elcor … a turian." The krogan ran a pink tongue against the outside of his mouth, hungry and sly. "We have not forgotten."

"The situation is … a good deal more complicated than that." _Oh, I am sure it is. But you were hardly going to explain it like this, were you?_ Reina kept her eyes on the krogan, who laughed softly.

"Don't believe everything they put on the pamphlet, alien." The krogan lumbered off with a muffled chuckle. "They don't even advertise our people's monument, anymore. Take care not to end up similarly forgotten … or leashed like the volus."

"Gross overgeneralizations," said Kel calmly, but with no small amount of stiffness. "If you wish, I can draw up some of the old casualty reports from their rebellions, among other things. What we had to do to survive … horrific. But the alternative?"

"I will take the time to review all available information." This time Reina gestured for them to move onward, which the salarian did with a roll of the eyes. "It's all ancient history, right?"

"For us, yes. For the krogan and asari, who may have lived to see that history? For the turians, who record everything in chant?" Kel's hands clenched. "I will … make sure you have everything you need. To make a judgement for your empress."

Kel did not point out anything else for the rest of the trip, instead stewing in some amount of distress. Reina, for her part, kept an eye out for more krogan. Surprisingly, she saw none. _Plenty of the big three, though. And plenty of shops._ Bells rang overhead, and turians began marching in unison out of the shops, towards elevators and up steps. _And places of faith, too._

"This is the hotel." Kel paused. "The staff have been warned of your appearance, and you should experience no trouble." Kel looked either way, to make certain no one stood near. "I would ask you, please … when you look to our history, try to accept our explanations. The situation is precarious."

"How so?" Reina kept her voice impassive, relishing the discomfort in the alien's voice. _It's nothing against you, personally. I'm just sensing that we might suddenly be privy to a better deal than could otherwise have been expected…_

"There is a race known as the batarians, no longer a part of the Council." Kel closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. "They are … Void worshippers. Practitioners of black magic anyone would blanch at. They seek allies, and I believe they will come to you and yours. Do not accept their gifts. Do not heed their words. They will bring destruction to those who listen, as surely as the volus did. And it will rile the turians."

"I can think of many who would approve of riling our would-be conquerors," said Reina, thinking to Murphy first and foremost. Kel ignored her.

"At the same time, do not let your Abbey clamp down on your peoples." Kel stepped forward, gripping Reina suddenly. "Even now, the turians probe your High Overseer for like-mindedness, and I assure you, they will find it. Given what happened at Shanxi, they will attempt a purge. Where once they were lax, now they will be spurred on by their peers in the Ecclesiarchy. I urge you – walk the line between acknowledging the Void as something not to be feared, and destroying everything associated with it."

Reina nodded, then shook off Kel's grip with as much strength as she dared. The salarian did not back away.

"And the wire charms … you will know them when you see them." Kel took a single step back, looking suddenly uncertain. "Curtail their purchase and usage. Do not compromise on that. The Terminus will come to you bearing gifts. Refuse them. I will bring you all relevant information when next I see you." Kel nodded, backed away, pointing to the watching receptionist. Reina turned to face her.

"And … your man. The one with the gift. I would account for him quickly, before either your Abbey or the Palvanus do."

When Reina turned back to reply, Kel had already gone.

* * *

"Here we are. Sunny, beautiful Intai'sei." Captain Jiang clapped Jack on the shoulder, a broad grin plastered over her face. The newly christened _Weeper's Tears_ clanked into place below them. "Take it in. We'll be safe here."

Jack took it in. He did not feel safe. A vast array of dark and narrow pre-fab structures stretched into the angry red horizon. A harsh, dry wind blew in through the dust-choked streets, bringing the scent of urban decay to Jack's nostrils. _Here. Here is a place in dire need of the Abbey._ And yet, they had chosen it for that exact reason.

"Not much worry of running into your "brothers" here," said Jiang, as if reading his mind. "Intai'sei pretty low on the list of places that matter. Last time I came, pretty sure there were only about three dozen of your guys in the main colony, and only another half dozen elsewhere on the planet." She shot Jack a sideways glance. "You know … this would be a good place to pick up bone charms and runes. If you're up for it."

 _How did it come to this._ Jack stared at his gloved hands, left eye twitching. But this time, the guilt soon subsided. _Restless hands..._

"I am up for it." Jack looked out over the edge of the vessel, this time taking a deep breath. With a sigh, he swept his left middle and forefinger before his eyes. The world changed.

The wind became muted, replaced instead by the distant screech of the Void. The angry red faded into a timid blue, while the grays of the buildings turned into an ominous black. And through it all, the people moved, alive and golden.

"There." Through the scream of the Void wind, a humming pulse. Jack pointed, feeling out with his mind in a way he could not articulate. A rune, close by. "Another." His finger swept far to his right, in the basement of some distant building. "And again." By the unseen waterfront, beneath the cresting waves. His heart beat with them.

"Well. I'll take your word for it." Jiang scratched the back of her neck. "We'll be staying here until we get word from Udina. Shouldn't be too long. You plan on taking the girl with you?"

"The girl." Jack looked back to the steps leading downward into the ship proper. Somewhere below, among the golden figures, Miranda thought back to what she had lost and sulked. _It was by your choice alone._ Jack's fists clenched. "No. She and Oleg will stay."

"Oleg doesn't have much choice in that, his face being what it is." Jiang frowned. "And if he really doesn't want that mark of yours, well … not sure why you want to keep him around, to be honest. The girl at least can pull that little vanishing act of yours in a dicey situation…"

"They both stay," said Jack firmly. "I owe them both too much. The same goes for you."

"Aw, thanks sweetheart." Jiang gave Jack's cheek a pinch, making his heart lurch in surprise. "But no need to worry about me. You get on with your little hunt. Just stay out of the Watch's way and get back by nightfall."

"Right." Jack felt his face, which still stung slightly. He looked to the nearest rooftop.

"Go on. Let's see it."

Jack clenched his left fist and felt the mark burn. Even through his glove it shone, showing just where the Outsider had touched him in both spirit and body. Then Jack released his grip and was gone, vision tunneling as time and space temporarily bent to his will. Then he stood at the lip of the rooftop, staring down at the opened deck of the ship below.

"Stay safe!" called out Jiang, and Jack offered a salute. Then he turned to face the world before him. How different a city looked from the flatness of its rooftops. The people wandered below in ones and twos, moving about the streets, buildings, and alleys with their vision flicking this way and that, the trash gathering about their feet. Here, there was only dust. _Well, that and bird shit._ It felt oddly thrilling, like the time he had climbed atop the Abbey and looked down on the sparring brothers below, relishing the sensation of being atop a forbidden vantage.

Where his feet could not travel, Jack leapt. Where he could not leap, he called upon his mark and flitted from roof to roof, momentum unabated. The howl of the Void gave way to the sound of a beating heart, growing louder and louder as he locked on to the rune.

There it was, far below. To Jack's slight surprise, it lay forgotten in a closed steel dumpster, a single urinating vagrant its only company. As Jack watched from above, the vagrant wiped his nose and left the alley, his piss drying in the hot sun. With a grimace, Jack descended, reappearing before the dumpster and trying to ignore the stench to his left. He pushed the handle back and stared at the rune within.

 _Such a small thing._ He reached out and took it, the thrumming temporarily taking hold of his body before fading. The rune's light faded like an ember racing towards the stars, leaving the outline of the Outsider's mark lifeless and dead. Jack dropped it, leaving the rune where he had found it. _I wonder who placed it there … or who made it?_ Jack shook his head. _Hmph. Assuming I live long enough, I'm sure I'll become quite familiar with the habits of heretics._ With a glance cast skyward, he returned to the rooftops.

"There." Despite being the only person present, Jack still pointed to the next rune, nestled in some three story building's basement not sixty feet from where he stood. He checked his shield and omnibow, the weapon glowing hot against his wrist. _All good._ He felt for the hilt of his overseer's saber. _Still … still here. Still mine._ Even Oleg, the noble fool, could not claim an overseer's saber as his own.

The building Jack sought stood on its lonesome close to the edge of the city wall. Foot traffic in this area in particular seemed rather low, with no watchmen in evidence. _In fact …_ Jack edged closer to the building, letting the Void take hold of his vision again. Two rather rough looking gentlemen lay directly beneath him, hugging either side of the alley.

"…choffing Abbey showed up here yesterday. Again." Jack leaned in closer, carefully studying what he could make out of the two men's outfits. Cloth wrapped around their mouths, likely to keep out the dust. Thick, uncomplicated looking blades in their meaty fists, at the ready. Pistols at their belts. No shields, however. _Likely gang members of some kind._ All the cities had them. All the colonies had it worse. _Wherever watchmen fear to tread…_

"Think they know about it?" It did not take a natural philosopher to figure out what they meant by that. _The rune is likely part of a shrine._ He glanced back up at where the rune lay, buried below, shaking his head at the corruptibility of men.

"The whole choffing town knows about it. But these gents are fixin' to _do_ something about it." The gentleman on the opposite side of the alley from Jack sniffed and wiped his nose. "It's those fucking aliens everyone keeps goin' on about. They shoved a bloodfly up the Abbey's ass, and now they're going berserk. You see what the High Overseer video on the extranet last night?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. He crept closer, straining to listen.

"No. What happened?"

"Bunch of ranting. I dunno what that trip did to him, but I never seen an overseer act like that before. The empress was there, but she didn't look happy. It was all about, what was it? "Uprootin' the foundations of heresy" or some shit?" He sniffed again. "Thing is, people took it serious. Real serious. And now we've got overseers snoopin' where they didn't used to snoop."

"Well. We'll learn 'em all right. We'll learn 'em real good."

 _We'll see about that._ Part of Jack was tempted to teleport behind the two of them and put an end to their nonsense for good, but in all honesty, they were likely better alive as a distraction. He let them be, focusing on the balcony of his target building, directly opposite. He paused before the sliding glass door, wondering if this were someone's home. _Well. I hardly intend to take anything aside from the rune._ He reached for the handle and pulled. _Unlocked. And why wouldn't it be?_ He let the Void guide his vision again.

Despite its size, much of the building looked uninhabited. Two women smoked cigarettes in a bedroom to Jack's immediate right, their muffled words creeping under the door. He snuck by with the softest footsteps he could manage. Their quiet conversation went on without a hitch.

The stairs creaked slightly under Jack's weight, making him curse. Others stirred in other bedrooms – it seemed this was some wretched apartment building, and the Outsider shrine was likely communal. _The overseers were right to come here. Root it out, put it to the sword._ Jack gingerly stepped downward, nose wrinkling at the scent of rat droppings and stale beer. Someone laughed loudly from behind closed doors, and Jack winced. Nevertheless, he cleared the second floor without difficulty.

Televisions and radios blared from within locked rooms. Jack thought he could hear the High Overseer ranting through one man's locked door, but it might have been wishful thinking. _The world goes on, even through alien invasion. Even through my heresy._ Distant Shanxi still burned, but Intai'sei was yet to wake up, it seemed. _Save for the overseers. Maybe._

Ground floor, covered in empty beer bottles and crushed up paper bags, enough to make Jack shake his head again. _Should lead the Abbey here. Clean it up. Clean it out._ An unmarked white door led downwards, to his prize. And, surprisingly, there was someone down there, lying on a couch and reading a book. _And paying no mind to the shrine…_

The basement door opened with a creak, but again no one paid it any mind. Jack descended the steps carefully, keeping his Void-enhanced gaze fixed on the woman on the couch, who turned a page lazily as he watched her through a wall. The air turned even thicker with dust, and the stench of rat droppings grew stronger.

Jack reached the last step. The wood of the stairs turned to the stained concrete of the basement. His heart thrummed and pulsed with the nearby altar, the purple light shining through a nearby door. Down here, all he could see were clothes strung up and drying, more empty bottles, and a few running laundry machines. _The height of mundanity._ Jack flicked his vision off, keeping his eye on where the woman would be when he turned the corner, readying his omnibow. _The idea that an Outsider shrine can just be kept in a regular basement like thi-_

As Jack crossed the threshold, the woman stood up with a shriek, her book falling to the floor. Jack would have reacted, but his foot had snagged on something and he tumbled forward, catching his fall with an outstretched arm. Something metal tumbled to the floor behind him. He turned just in time to see the chokedust canister falling from the ceiling.

"By the O-"

The canister burst, and Jack's lungs caught fire. He lowered his head, eyes watering, desperately trying to find some corner of the room where the dust did not reach. With each wracking heave, it became more difficult to breathe. Of the woman, there was no-

Jack fell. It became hard to say why at first, but then his head exploded into stars. The pain felt like – like something hot and bulbous pressed against the back of his skull, the heat pulsing with every heartbeat. His lungs sucked in rancid air now, the chokedust fading, but all he could focus on was the pain, his vision flashing red.

"By the Outsider," said a female voice, distant and unimportant. "Is that – he's got a shield. And…" Scrawny, hesitant hands felt at his belt, tugged away things he knew were important. He groaned and reached down, but something smashed across his face, slamming him back into a world consisting only of pain. Rough hands grabbed at his wrists, prying things loose. The woman exclaimed a few more times, but Jack could barely open his eyes, his breathing sharp and rapid, lungs burning.

"Banes," said the woman, and Jack had no idea what that meant. "Banes, I got another one. Not a noble this time. He had a shield! And a…" But Jack could not focus. Things were being taken away, but gradually the pain was subsiding. It was an even trade, at least for the moment.

Jack could not recall just when the relief came in a burst of sweat, only that he rose slowly, groggily, head pounding and face burning. The woman was gone. Jack felt for his belt. As were his sword and pistol. As was his omnitool and shield. While the woman might have left him his clothes, they were hardly of any use.

 _Banes._ He remembered that word, that name. _The one in charge. Has to be._ He felt for the back of his head. An ugly lump greeted him, smarting even as he brushed over it with gloved fingers. _Shit. The door!_

Abandoning the shrine, Jack slid through the dust and dashed up the stairs. The door did not yield to his frenzied turning of the knob, nor his pushing against it. He imagined himself on the other side, mark burning … and reappeared on the same side of the basement to no effect. _Magic stopped by a blocked door. Preposterous!_ Jack kicked the door hard, only to add his foot to the list of body parts in pain. _Damn it!_

Jack returned to the shrine, fuming, trying to hold on to that anger, trying to keep it from turning to fear. _Okay. Okay. I am not defenseless. I am not defenseless!_ He did, however, appear to be trapped. The basement did not possess any windows, nor any other entrances he could see. All there was, flickering an otherworldly purple. Even his void gaze revealed nothing. None of the residents upstairs had even budged to check on the racket. _I did not want to ask him for advice._ With a heaving sigh, Jack stepped forward, checking for any further traps. But no, the rune remained, pulsing. Jack took hold of it, and let the darkness take hold of his vision.

"Now, Jack. This is just sad."

He appeared in a puff of purple, arms folded, face without expression. Still, Jack bristled, not just at the barb, but on instinct. _The black eyes, the floating … you are just_ wrong _, you know that?_

"I have been called many things, Jack, "wrong" among one of the less insulting. And imaginative." The Outsider waved an airy hand. "So you have come to Intai'sei. Not for long, I think. Your journey lies elsewhere, and others move to claim you."

"The Abbey?" It would be bitterly ironic if Banes, whoever that was, elected to send his brothers to the shrine. _And if they brought a music box…_

"Among others, not all of them human." The Outsider smirked. "If they knew you so easily mugged and trapped inside of a basement, perhaps they would rethink their efforts. Did you think yourself invincible? Infallible? Even I do not stoop to such arrogance."

"Get me out." The words were spoken through gritted teeth, the pain inside surpassing the pain outside. "Get … get me out."

"I do nothing for anyone." The Outsider's words made it clear there would be no argument. "Reach within. Look to your talents. Two runes dwell within you, now. More avenues open. And now, Banes sends his men." The Outsider leaned in, smirking. "How will this clumsy heretic handle this, I wonder? Will the night end in slaughter, as thug and false overseer spill one another's blood? Or will the dawn find Banes still alive, but wishing it were not so?" The Outsider leaned back, still smirking. "Or perhaps you will trip over a doorstep and break your neck. It's all a possibility. But I strongly suggest you look within … and think fast."

It all came snapping back. Jack gasped, jerking away from the altar, head pounding again. _Footsteps. Above._ Instinctively, he brought his fingers across his eyes again, staring through wall and floor to the golden figures above, approaching from the street.

 _Two. Man and a woman._ Both clutched crude swords in their hands and pistols at their belts. Jack felt for his own belt, forgetting for a moment, and then cursed. Banes' thugs made for the door.

 _Reach within._ The mark on Jack's hand burned. The shadows leapt and blurred at the corners of his vision.

"All right. Lock it behind ya." He could hear them now, tromping down the steps in heavy boots. The same kind of people of Shepard's family. They lived hard, drank hard, fought hard. _And now … they die._ Jack raised his hands over his head, both of them clenched. His heart stilled in his chest. What he was about to do, parts of him still couldn't fully accept it. And yet…

"Alright choffer-" said the man as he turned the corner, pistol pointed at Jack's heart, hair disheveled and greasy. He stopped as he realized Jack had already surrendered. "Never mind. You got the idea. Blissy! Tie 'im up. I got ya covered." He looked Jack up and down. "Whalers getup, sure as she said. They always pay to get their guys back." He threw a sympathetic glance at Jack, who just stared back blankly. "You're probably gonna get a taste of the cat for this, knowing them. Still, you should know better, blundering in like this. How'd you even get in here? The lookouts said no one came in through the front door."

A woman, colorful tattoos running up her arms and neck, strolled in with sword drawn. She sheathed it once she saw Jack yielding.

"Nice and easy now." She stepped forward hesitantly, pulling a small spool of rope from her belt. As she approached, Jack breathed in. His mark pulsed.

The shadows gathered and reared. From behind the man, darkness consolidated, threw itself together in the shape of a man, standing. In the shape of a blade, sharp. In it, Jack thought he could see himself, the shape of the rippling nose, the height of the forehead. _An abomination._ It cast no shadow, itself, instead bending the light around it. Where it stepped, there came not a sound. It reached for the thug.

"That's it," said the man, watching Jack's every movement. "This don't have to be anything more than a bad memory, got it? Just take it easy, now."

Jack nodded, but not to the man. The shadow took another step forward. With a single motion it brought a midnight hand about the man's mouth with one hand, pressed the flickering blade into his throat with the other. The man gave a muffled yelp that soon turned to a gurgle, but the shadow did not relent, and the man's flailing was to no avail. The woman stood before him now, rope outstretched.

Jack reared back suddenly before thrusting his head forward. With a sharp crack, the woman staggered with a cry, the blood blossoming from her nose while she scrabbled for her sword. Jack reeled momentarily, but then plunged forward to his shadow, reaching for the corpse's own scabbard. The woman stared at her compatriot in horror and confusion, face contorting.

"How – you!"

The shadow released the thug, advancing with silent purpose. To the woman's credit, she held her ground. _Bravery, in the face of this._

"The key." Jack extended his free hand, still gripping the sword with the other. "Give me the key and we can forget this."

"You killed him." She still sounded in shock. She shook her head, cheeks turning from white to red. "You're dead, you're both dead!"

The shadow faded, and with it, Jack felt the sudden pang of exhaustion, the same sense he got when he told time to slow. The woman lunged, and Jack brought up a clumsy parry, his blade catching hers and snagging. She pushed forward, snarling, revealing pointed teeth. Jack pushed back, throwing his weight against hers, trying to ignore the pain in his much-abused head, the way his muscles now ached and his eyes watered.

With a lurch, Jack forced his weight forward and threw the woman backward. He stepped forward, but she recovered with an admirable quickness, ducking to the side and swiping quickly, making Jack step backward in shock. _I have no shield! Do not forget this._ She hissed at him, a curiously inhuman sound, and went on the attack again, forgoing strong slashes for quick lunges and swipes, trying to get a cut in. One blow nicked his shoulder, making it sting.

Jack grunted falling backwards, trying to keep an eye on his footing. The floor behind him felt strange, alternately sticky and slippery, and Jack realized it was the thug's blood, pooling steadily upon the floor. Jack gritted his teeth, parried again, trying to remember his training. _Footwork. It's all in the footwork._ Of course, if he had his pistol it would be so much simpler, the bitch clearly did not have a shield…

With a cry, the woman jumped forward, blade flashing down in a deadly arc. Jack, without fully meaning to, vanished, vision turning to a tunnel of purple. The woman's sword crashed down where he once stood with a clatter, sending up sparks. Jack stood behind her, blinking, her back exposed to him. _A shameful waste. You fought so well._

Jack stepped forward smartly, hand wrapping around her neck as he pressed the blade inward, close to the shoulder blade. The woman gasped as the blade came out her chest, pale pink at the tip, the blood popping and bubbling out of her like champagne from a bottle. Her sword slipped from her grip, falling to the floor with a painful finality. With a final shudder, she went limp, and Jack withdrew the blade with more than a small tinge of shame. _And so I stain his shrines with blood, like some barbarian._

But this was Jack's doing alone. He stared at the bodies, wondering if he would have spared them if they had not taken his darts and his omnibow. _Of … of course._ He had been deprived of options, and it was clear their master was his enemy. _But … they inhabit shrines and prey on the defenseless. Do a few valorous final moments make up for a lifetime of sin?_

The corpses had no answer. They so rarely did.

* * *

Captain Jiang did not take to Jack's return well, mostly because she took exception to human blood on her deck. Despite Jack's protests to his physical wellbeing (barring his head) they still ushered him down to the ship's surgeon, who regarded Jack with no small amount of panic.

"Sit," ordered the captain while Oleg and Miranda looked on silently. To Jack's surprise, he could see concern on both their faces. "What the hell happened?"

"Some idiot named Banes is kidnapping nobles who visit shrines," growled Jack. The surgeon proffered a small pack of ice which Jack swiped with an irritated thanks. "Killed two of his goons, but not before they robbed me blind. They took my shield. My omni tool. My sword." The last stung the most, and Oleg nodded as he said it. "I'm going to get them back. Give me a shot of Addermire's Solution."

To the surgeon's credit, he looked to Jiang for confirmation first. She gave it. Jack winced as the needle went into his arm. The warmth that followed did not feel entirely natural.

"He has your omnitool," said Jiang dully, exchanging a glance with Oleg. "He's going to know who you are. And chances are, seeing as you just killed two of his guys, he's going to hand it to the Abbey. And they're going to find you … and my ship."

"I'm going to find him." Jack's hands clenched and unclenched, mark sparking. "The colony is small, and I have little to lose."

"You won't have to look far. I know who Banes is." Jiang shrugged. "Colonies have gangs. Most are small. Banes's isn't. There's not too much of Intai'sei to fight over. Not this part, anway. Someone had to come out on top."

"So I'll be doing the Empire a service, in addition to myself." Jack looked up to Jiang, then to Miranda. "Give me what you can. Sword and pistol, some Addermire Solution. I'll handle this." He jerked his head to Miranda. "You're coming."

To his surprise, Miranda smiled.

"This is what I signed up for."

* * *

Night fell as they prepared, the angry sunset replaced by the lighting of lamps. Jack's new belt felt uncomfortable, the blade heavy, but he could hardly complain he was fortunate to have anything at all. There was no replacing his omnibow for the moment, nor the sleep darts loaded into them; Udina kept himself abnormally well-stocked for an unassuming guild representative. The pistol, at least, appeared of good make.

Miranda looked a good deal more intimidating in whaling leathers, armed to the teeth. While she buckled her belt with some hesitation, Jack had seen her spar with a few of the more bored whalers. Either she had been trained well, possessed a natural gift, or some combination of the two. Her footwork more than made up for her lack of reach and comparative lack of strength. _And that is temporary. She is only fifteen._ He watched her fiddle with her shield, slightly worried at the lack of his own. _Only fifteen._

It worried him, a little. But the Abbey made killers of initiates younger than that, when it needed to. And perhaps, only he would need to do any killing. Miranda still had her darts.

"I still can't slow time," Miranda complained, pulling a whaling mask about her face. "And I can't … split myself … like you can. Maybe I should try one of those runes?"

"I think you'll have to be content with what you have." Jack pulled his own mask over his face. The air tasted sweeter with it on. "Oleg?"

Oleg looked up from the table, several maps splayed out before him. He dipped his quill in ink and circled the upper level of the building plan.

"He has an upper level terrarium, where they're trying to grow some Serkonnan plants. A bit of home." Jack joined Oleg, watching him draw lines and arrows. "There is an entrance here, leading down to the lower levels. Fast access to his study and bedroom, even. But make a racket, and the lower levels are swarming with his people, and the watch stays clear of his streets."

 _But not the Abbey. Not anymore._ Jack felt for the reassuring solidity of his hilt, wishing it were his familiar saber.

"He might not have taken your stuff to his room, however." Oleg shifted the papers, revealing the lower levels. "Jiang says he has a vault, mostly of occult crap, but also of some of the more expensive stuff. If he hasn't decided to try on your shield, this is where it would probably have ended up."

"I need that shield." Jack's eyes narrowed. "We're going in through the terrarium, working our way down. If we get spotted, if things get dicey, he dies. They all die."

"You would work such a retribution on them?" Oleg raised his eyebrows. "In the heat of battle, such decisions can be forgiven. But … all of them, Jack? Are you resolved to do this?"

Jack remembered the Outsider's words. _Is it truly the only option, if we are caught?_

"I would rather bring him in to the Abbey, if I could," Jack admitted. "I'll see if I can work that in to the schedule. Mostly I need that omnitool back. For Jiang's sake, as well as mine."

"Then you best get a move on. I've looked over things as best I can."

Jack rose, took Oleg's hand and shook it. "We'll be back before sundown, body and honor intact, omnitool on hand. Count on it."

"Do try to be careful."

Jack followed Miranda out on to the deck, the whalers shoving themselves against walls in their passing. None seemed to want to look at them, and a few clutched bone charms against their chests tightly in their wake.

"They're right to fear us," said Miranda, staring out over the deck to the city they were about to hit. "Aren't they?"

"More right than wrong." Jack pointed to the closest rooftop. "Let's go."

They flitted from rooftop to rooftop, two Void spirits haunting the dead of night. Below them, watchmen went about their patrols, shoulder lamps blazing in the arid night, occasionally whistling a jaunty tune. _And, far from where, Shanxi still burns…_

Banes's house did not take much difficulty to spot, making Jack's blood rise. _Criminals belong in the mud, scrabbling for sustenance. They should not lay claim to … this._

As the plans indicated, the building was an impressive four stories, topped by a greenhouse thick with vegetation. When Jack looked through the Void, he could see the house alive with life, many guests occupying a dining hall thick with chairs and wine. Music drifted up from below, and looking down Jack could see a thick stone wall, guards patrolling below. And, deep within the building, something pulsed, heavy and hard. Banes owned many bone charms.

"Have you ever killed before?" Jack asked, not turning to his companion at his side. The wind howled as she paused.

"Only with my wit."

"But you know where the blood flows thickest? Where to strike to disable a man's arm?" Jack turned to Miranda. She nodded, but only after several moments of staring. "Are you prepared to, if need be?"

"Y- yes."

Part of Jack hoped she was lying. Few were born to be natural killers, and those that were made unpleasant company. At the same time, his safety demanded she told the truth. _It is different, though. In the heat of the moment._ Jack shook his head. _Perhaps it will not come to that._

One final teleport, and their feet scrabbled against the concrete outside the terrarium. No sound emanated from within, even though Jack half-expected birdsong of some kind. The door inside stood unguarded.

"Quietly now." The entrance opened without a squeak, and Jack strode through, eyes blazing blue. Below them, two dozen people milled about in what must have been some kind of dinner party. Others patrolled the halls and grounds. Nearly all of them possessed swords belted to them, pistols across their chest. _And shields, maybe? Armor?_ At least there were no clockwork soldiers. Banes' influence did not extend that far.

The lively green vegetation seemed so out of place on a world so orange and brown. Thick purple fruit grew on vines, ripe enough to eat, and Jack felt his mouth water under his mask. _Rampant Hunger, brother. Rampant Hunger._ He turned away from them only reluctantly. Vengeance would have to fill his belly instead.

"Watch the floors for tripwires," said Jack, wincing at the memory. He would not be taken like that again.

A small trapdoor stood out of place at the center of the terrarium, surrounded by foliage. Jack pulled it open with only little difficulty, setting it down on the grass softly. He looked down the ladder and scoffed, clenching his left hand and reappearing at the bottom, striding forward. On his right, the bedroom. On his left, the study. Just behind him, the stairs down.

"No one in either room," said Jack as Miranda appeared behind him with the sound of rushing wind. He tried the study door. "Locked." The bedroom proved no better.

"So we have to find Banes," said Miranda, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Jack glanced back at the stairway. _This is probably going to be a bit harder than the apartment from before._ The sounds of revelry echoed from below.

"Follow my lead. Do as I say without hesitation." Jack did not wait for an answer, walking past Miranda, trying to stay on the tips of his feet. They descended the steps in fearful silence.

On the left – life, glorious life. Men and women toasted one another, discussed politics in small groups, glasses in hand, ate Serkonnan grapes out of little bowls. On the right, a balcony up a small flight of steps, overlooking both the dining hall and the streets below. Three guards stood, sweating even in the night.

"Heading right. Three guards." Jack licked his lips. "Use the darts. Stun who you can. I will … handle the rest."

It did not feel right, sneaking about like some assassin without honor, some thief in the night. Taking the lives of these men, from the dark, without warning? _They are criminals and heretics._ Jack paused. _The same as I. We were born to kill one another, like this. I just have the better weaponry._

There was no door out to the balcony, whose floor was made of wood. Chairs and tables sat scattered about the deck, a single umbrella folded above one of the tables. Two guards stood at the edge, glowing cigarettes in hand, staring out over the colony. The other hung near the back, looking out at the dining hall through the slats of a wooden window.

Jack pointed to the gentleman at the back. _Mine._ With a rush of wind, he appeared behind him, arms at the ready. With a quick lunge, he brought his wrists around the man's throat and leaned back, squeezing.

The man grunted, hands frantically lashing backwards, trying to find some part of Jack to grab. For several long seconds, Jack held his breath and his grip, feeling the man's Adam's apple bump against his wrist. Slowly, the man's flailing slowed, then stopped altogether. Jack let him gently down, then pointed to the heedless man to his right, then to his own neck. _Yours._ He pointed to the one on the left, then at himself. _Mine._ Miranda gave him a thumbs up.

 _We were born to kill one another, you and I. But not today, if I can help it._

Jack crept forward, content to use his own two feet this time. The guards muttered to themselves, about their boss, about the weather. Miranda readied her omnibow.

 _Now._

Jack reached forward and pulled the guard back. The poor man uttered a muffled yelp, one hand flying backward to glance Jack's face while the other went for his sword belt, fumbling as his grip was pinned. His friend gave a snort in surprise, only for the omnibow to go off. The man grunted in pain … and then shouted, voice thick with the poison but all too audible.

"Attack! We're under attack! The balcony! Get to the balcony!"

Miranda, panicking, fired again, striking the man in the chest as he turned to face her. He fumbled with his sword before falling, legs turning to jelly. Elsewhere in the building, alarms sounded, and Jack involuntarily lost his grip. With a sudden lurch, the man reared his head back and slammed it into Jack's face, knocking him to his knees.

"Balcony! Two choffers on the balco-" The man screamed, wrenching himself away from something in a spray of blood. He fell to the ground. Miranda stood behind him, clearly paralyzed, a blade with a bloodied tip in her hands.

"The neck," growled Jack, trying to control the thudding of his heart as the world went mad around him. "To put them down quickly, you have to aim for the neck."

"Oh." Miranda watched her victim convulse in a spreading pool of blood beneath her. "I aimed for his heart on the thrust."

"You found it. Well played." Jack readied his weapon. "Back to back now." None of the rooftops were close enough. As his fingers brushed past his eyes, it also became clear the stairs were blocked by a rising tide of enraged scum.

"Two on how many?" asked Miranda, voice growing shrill, gaze fixed on the now stilling body of her victim.

"Not just two," said Jack, hand glowing. _I hoped it would not come to this. Two spared among how many?_ Better than he had expected going in. Hopefully Banes had not done a runner. "And time is on our side."

They stood back to back, Miranda feeling so small next to him. Her blade trembled while his remained still, clenched in a meaty fist.

The first man to came through did so on Miranda's side, and took a sleep dart for it. He fell with a slurred yell, coming to rest on the ground before the stairs. The next two came together, and Miranda missed with her next shot. From Jack's side, three barreled up the stairs.

 _This is going to be painful._

With a sigh, Jack let the shadows flow from his fingers, let them leap and congeal. A man comprised of ribbons, now black, now purple, rose from behind the door. Then, still reeling from the effort, Jack reached out and told time to slow.

It felt different this time, louder as by slowing time, others could now listen in. But it was fine. Miranda was not slowed. Nor was the shadow. They moved free from time's strings, blades in hand, advancing on their baffled enemies, who observed men moving at speeds unheard of. And Jack, Jack was not slowed. Nor did he have cause to hesitate.

The first man was raising his blade to strike, but did so as if fighting his way through molasses. Jack grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled the blade through him, working it up through the ribs and into the soft matter beneath. Then he pulled it out with a slight pop, all red. The man fell in slow motion, the glassy shock already settling on his face. _Next._

Jack could hear the quick work of Miranda's blade behind him, along with heavy breathing and the distorted shouts of men moving many times slower than normal. The next closest man looked heavy-set, a cleaver in each hand. Jack moved to the side, reached out for the neck and drew it close. Where everywhere else on the man was so thick with muscle and fat, the neck proved as soft as always, the blade driving inside with sickening squelch. Jack retrieved it half a second later, the blood spraying out in an impressive burst as the man reared and clutched at the freshly opened wound.

Then, with a frightening howl, time snapped back into place. Two bodies lay behind Jack, three more before him. His shadow offered a rough salute with its blade and vanished, leaving a panicked-looking youth at the top of the stairs. He dropped his weapon with a clatter and raised his hands. Jack nodded. _Run. Run from me, do not look back._

"Shit shit shit!" Screams from below, bellowed curses at the inexplicable onslaught. Jack smiled, only to jerk back at the sudden crack of a gunshot from below, breaking through the wooden slats of the window close to him and leaving a faintly smoking hole. He looked to Miranda, whose whaling slicks now possessed a fresh coat of blood.

"Dining hall. You take the stairs." Jack took the lead, kicking open the closest window and staring down at the emptying hall below. The shooter cursed and reloaded her pistol, the faint flicker of a shield about her. Jack took a few steps back and then dived forward, hand glowing. As he fell, belly first, he released his grip.

The woman screamed as the distance closed in less than a heartbeat, her pistol dropped in favor of a blade. Not quick enough. Jack made a quick thrust at her throat, feeling the faint bubble about her give way to the pinpoint pressure. The blade entered the front of her neck and stuck, blood issuing from the wound in fearsome quantities. Jack tried not to focus on the way her eyes widened as he pulled the weapon free.

"Left!" Jack's head snapped left, dripping weapon readied. Another gunner, pistol drawn, now stumbling with a green bolt lodged in his own neck. _Fine shot, Miranda._ He was almost certain that was the last sleep dart, however.

The alarms still issued and people still ran in all directions, screaming. Void Gaze revealed nothing beyond the expected chaos, golden figures running about, most of them unarmed. Although … one did linger below, where the bone charms dwelled.

"Follow." Jack motioned to Miranda before pulling his pistol free with his left hand. If anyone jumped on the stairs, shield or no, they would be sent for a bit of a tumble. The two of them descended the wooden steps, breathing heavily. Outside, people screamed for the Abbey. For the Abbey.

The basement door had been flung open in great haste and footprints remained visible in the dust on the stairs. The heady stench of wine wafted from below, making Jack's blood boil. _Of course. Keep the heresy close to the alcohol. Do you revel down here, Banes? Do you make drunken overtures to the Outsider to show himself?_

"Show yourself!" bellowed Jack, descending into the darkness, weapons still drawn, his enhanced vision fixed on the figure fiddling at something within the vault. "Banes! Is that you?"

Wheeling around a heavy wine rack, Jack came face to face to the vault door, light streaming out from it. A figure stood at the entrance, weapon drawn, a curious device on the breast of his buttoned up jacket. _Banes._ He faced Jack with a mocking grimace, blade raised – Jack's blade! – brushing the long black bangs from his face. _Handsome for a crime lord._

"You're the one they're looking for, aren't you?" He spoke with an accent seasoned with Serkonos, white teeth flashing as he held his ground at the entrance. A shield rippled about him. "It's all they talk about, the overseers. That, and their new friends. Doesn't that just make your blood boil?"

That last part made little sense to Jack, who simply watched, waiting. Banes chuckled, an edge of madness to it.

"What do you want? You've eclipsed my efforts at heresy, summoning shadows like that. Moving like a man possessed." Banes paused. "Oh, but of course. This is your sword, isn't it? You're the one we robbed."

"Give up the blade, and we can settle this." Jack paced to and fro, circling the entrance, hoping Banes would make a move. The man only stood there, eyes flicking to Miranda as she fell in behind him.

"And the duke's daughter," breathed Banes. "Of all places, you came to Intai'sei. To me." Banes took a small step forward, assuming a ready duelist's pose. "As for the blade … no. It was never intended for my hands, that is true … but to give it to a heretic?" Banes saluted with a flourish. "If I kill you, bring Lady Miranda back? That'll make back all the damages and all the death, plus extra. And it'll be a tale for the grandkids, as a bonus."

"It's two on one." Jack placed his feet carefully, watching Banes's every motion. Miranda stood at his side now, pistol aimed at Banes's chest. "And I'm far more than you will ever be."

Banes tapped the strange talisman on his breast, which glowed first bright blue, then a deep, unsettling red.

"We'll see."

Jack pulled the trigger, but the shot flew into empty air, ricocheting somewhere inside the vault. He brought up his blade instinctively, meeting Banes's stolen saber just in time. Banes moved at speeds unimaginable, already disengaging, flinging an errant wine bottle at Miranda, causing her to duck as it shattered against the wall, spraying it purple.

"Come on then, heretic!" Jack threw his pistol aside, clenched his fist. Banes's next blow whistled through thin air, and Jack faced his back, sword whipping in a deadly arc. The noise it made as it caught nothing was maddening in both its loudness and its futility. Banes danced out of reach, the stolen saber glowing in the light of the strange bone charm upon his breast.

Jack reached out to time and pulled. Miranda struggled to her feet as the world turned gray, and Banes laughed, voice distorted, but not to the expected degree. Jack grunted and charged him, and saber met sword in a shower of sparks.

"Swing harder!" demanded Banes, the blades locking, his face shaking in slowed laughter. With a surge of red, his mouth contorted, and he shoved Jack backwards with improbable force, sending him jerking into a wine rack.

Jack fell, the glass bottles moving momentarily as if propelled normally before freezing in midair, many of them in the process of shattering. The rack splintered, and where Jack's glove pushed himself upward, he felt the pinprick of an uncomfortable number of shards.

Already Banes was upon him, unslowed by time, which again resumed its normal course. Miranda fired, her bullet knocking Banes sideways as it pushed against his shield, the heavy bullet making him gasp, winded. When Miranda charged him, however, he righted himself with a heavy backhand, sending her sprawling and making Jack wince.

"You made yourselves the Outsider's bitch, and you can't even win a fair fight?" Banes grunted again, the red light shining brighter, and he clutched his chest as if in sudden pain. "Heh."

Jack reached out for the nearest wine bottle neck, gripped it tight, hurled it with force. It smashed harmlessly against the wall about a foot to Banes's left. Jack grimaced, while Banes strode forward, saber glinting. Jack stood and readied himself again while Miranda groaned on the floor.

Jack blocked the first cut, his blade clashing against Banes's with a noise like a ringing thunderclap. He dodged the next, retreating neatly as he had been taught, the blow catching only air. Banes paused, aimed the third cut at the neck. Jack brought up his blade, realizing a hair second too late the attack never came. _Feint!_ He twisted, grunting as his own saber raked his side, ribs partially turning aside the blow. He backed up, the blood running freely from the wound.

"Heh." Banes grinned again, only to look down at the bone charm in sudden shock, clutching at it with his free hand. "I … heh."

Jack lunged, trying to ignore his own agony in favor of taking advantage of Banes's. With a strangled yell, he brought his blade down at Banes's skull, left hand clenching. Banes deflected it with a grimace, sword barely coming up in time, arm juddering at the impact, preparing for the second strike, which Jack directed … at his back, releasing his grip. With a puff of smoke, he returned the favor, smiling at the satisfaction.

A deep red cut, weeping red. Banes jerked forward with another choked scream, red light blooming from his chest … from his mouth. As Banes wheeled on Jack, it was to reveal sockets of bright orange-red, the charm upon his chest latching on to it with wires.

"The clock will strike twelve!" It still sounded like Banes, but his movements now looked distinctively insane, limbs twitching, head jerking at odd intervals. _The bone charm. It must be._ But Jack had never seen or heard of any charm acting like this. "Outsider!"

Banes's blade flashed, but Jack had already vanished, unwilling to face this thing head on. This time, he swung too quickly, the shield catching the weapon and flinging it out of his grasp. _Oh. Damn._ Banes turned, a fist flashing. It struck Jack in the jaw full force, making his vision go dark momentarily. A second later he awoke, on the ground, Banes clawing at his chest.

"No!" The cry became strangely electronic, static raising in the air and making Jack's hair stand on end. "I-"

Out of nowhere, Miranda stood, blade drawn and unwavering. With a few neat steps forward, she ducked under the raging Banes's flailing limbs, and thrust for the bone charm. The blade met it in a small scream of red sparks, and the distorted cybernetic scream turned to recognizably human agony. Chunks of steaming metal and broken wire fell to the ground, Banes quickly following it. Miranda stepped back, covered in blood and dust, a gasp escaping her throat.

"You did it," Jack said numbly, struggling to his feet, all too many wounds making their presence felt. "He lives, even."

Miranda nodded, panting, face obscured by the mask. "I aimed for the heart…"

Banes did not stir, his breathing only barely visible. With a grunt, Jack retrieved his saber, noting the fresh nicks on the edge. _Mine. For as long I can carry it._ He looked down to Banes, then to his vault. _The Abbey's. For whatever purpose they desire._

"Lock him in. The Abbey will be here soon enough." The watch might have been bought off, but there was no stopping his brothers. And there was no excuse for being found in a room full of bone charms.

"A key." Miranda, thinking ahead, had searched his body and found a small silver key. "For his room, remember? And another … for the vault. We need the omnitool." She cocked her head. "We didn't … we didn't come here for the sword."

"Right." Jack shook his head, trying to clear it. "Sorry." A quick glance inside the vault gave no sign of the omnitool, however. Jack gave Miranda a meaningful glance before gesturing to Banes.

Between the two of them, it was no difficult thing to haul Banes's unconscious form inside the vault. When it closed, it did so with a reassuring click as the locking mechanism slid into place, and Jack made sure to leave the vault door key hanging very obviously from an overhead hook. _He won't starve in there. He will not suffocate._

The house now stood empty, but distant alarms told them it would not always be so. Doubtless the air carriages already filled with warfare overseers, their radios blaring with the ancient mathematics. _That is not a situation we want to be caught in._ He increased his pace up the steps, worked the lock as quickly as he could.

"You take the study," said Jack, flicking the key to Miranda, who caught it with trembling fingers. "Find my shield, too, if you can."

Banes's room clearly reflected someone desperate to return to Serkonos, or someone trying to recreate it as best they could. A titanic king-sized bed took up the center of the room, its blankets strewn about it along with what suspiciously like a woman's undergarments. Leafy plants sprouting small purple fruit hung from above on hooks, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. A few rather fat cigars sat atop a small food stained card dealer's table, which Jack examined with a wrinkled nose. _Disgusting._ Looking about the room, only one thing immediately caught his interest; a small polished golden medal atop the bedside desk.

"Blade Verbana, third place." Jack snorted. _That would explain the duelist's stance. He was talented even without the bone charm. Probably more so than me._ But it didn't matter. The alarms grew louder, and the bedroom was a dud.

"Found them." Miranda entered with two small devices in hand, which Jack took gratefully, slotting them into place on his wrist. _Ah, there's the shield._ "Is that … a Verbana trophy?"

"He could have made something of himself. Something other than this." Jack shrugged. "The Abbey will demonstrate his failings. At length. We have places to be." He made for the door, before pausing. "And … thank you. You acquitted yourself well."

"I always hoped I would." Miranda did not sound entirely convinced of this. _She's covered in blood … at least most of it is not hers._

They staggered back up to the terrarium, eyes bleary, hands shaking. Jack's mind raced during the return trip, but they said not a word to one another.

* * *

"Retribution is swift."

Jack stood among the crowd, arms folded, smiling, his compatriots at his side as the people gathered at the center of Intai'sei's capital. The Abbey gathered in strength, in greater strength than Jiang had thought they possessed, a pillory already in place. The watch too, gathered in the square, their hoods flapping in the light breeze, scalps and faces protected against the sun above.

"But is it warranted?" Oleg watched pensively, the hooded fashion of Intai'sei affording him some protection from scrutinizing eyes. "What has he done that we should not hang for?"

"Faithful! Gather here, now! Witness the beginning of a new age! An age of iron will and unyielding reason!" The lead overseer stood before the pillory, mask shining in the sun. "Behold, the heretic who has evaded us for so long!"

Banes, hair shaved, hands bound, and clad in rags, held between two broad-shouldered overseers. Jack watched with narrowed eyes, hands on hilt. For all he knew, the man would without warning spit fire and throw his captors free. Yet all he saw now in the man's eyes was pain. And fear.

"We found him, trapped within a vault of his bone charms, beaten senseless by one of his fellows." The overseer looked over the crowd, who remained silent. "In past days, we might have been bought. We might have been lenient. But now comes the age of steel, and all will falter 'neath the accusing gaze of the Abbey. For in these dark days, brothers betray their oaths, and hellfire rains from the sky upon our colonies. But no longer. Now we gather our new allies and our redoubled strength. Step forward, Palvanus!"

The overseer stepped aside, and someone tall and … _No. No!_

"You knew us as enemies, but we are united against the Outsider." Three of those _things_ , turians, standing in robes and clad in steel masks, the same as before! _Shanxi …_ Jack's blade slashed in his mind, meeting the turian's in a scream of steel. _Valor never made it to the abbey._ Hounds followed the overseers even now, regarding the turians without ire. The crowd muttered and shifted. "We come here at the Abbey's invitation, as well as the empress's. Do you deny the Abbey's past leniency? One of their number fell to his influence. Never again. No more of your number will bear his mark. We will bring fire. We will bring steel. We will bring reason. You will be forged into something greater."

"Remember Shanxi!" shouted someone, and the crowd's muttering grew louder.

"Remember the blessedly short reign of Delilah!" called back an overseer. "Look to the extranet and see the hell the Outsider has wrought upon this galaxy, and know we have been fortunate to escape most of his interest!"

The center Palvanus drew a blade, thin and silvery, studied it in against his hand. Jack's breathing grew sharper.

"Our only enemy is this man, here. Armistan Banes. He terrorized you, and consorted with foul energies." The Palvanus looked over the simmering crowd, expression hidden beneath the mask. "You must prove yourselves to us, to all Council races. You bear the Outsider's face. You bear responsibility for his creation. This debt will be repaid." The Palvanus turned to the waiting Banes, now forced to his knees. "One heretic at a time. The penalty for your transgressions is death. I will send you screaming to the Void."

"Didn't take long for the Empress to sell us out to aliens," muttered Miranda, but she made no move. The Palvanus drew the blade overhead. The crowd sucked in a breath, some muttering darkly…

"No."

Shadows from nowhere, taking shape at the Palvanus's back. The crowd roared and the overseers screamed. The Palvanus turned, just in time for the rippling blade to be thrust through his chest. The turian screamed as the blue blood sprayed, and the shadow whipped around only to be silenced in a hail of gunfire.

"Enough!" Jack strode to the front of the scattering crowd, saber drawn, voice commanding. "How have you forgiven Shanxi so quickly, brothers?"

"It's _him._ "

Hounds barked, overseers formed lines, and the remaining Palvanus tried to staunch the bleeding of their compatriot in vain, small red syringes pressed against his arm. Jack stood before the platform, framed by the sun. Banes whimpered and watched with wide eyes.

"We held the line against these devils on Shanxi at dire cost!" Jack's eyes flashed, and he stared down each overseers as they dared approach, guns fixed on him, but unwilling to shoot just yet. The Palvanus glared down from the pulpit, eyes predatory like a hawk's. "We stood against them even as they cut down our hounds and besieged our temple with cannons! We stood firm as they fell about us like rain, swords in hand! And now you stand beside them, and you dare call them allies?"

"You are heretic scum," called out an overseer, a hand about his dog's collar. "You forsook everything you professed to hold dear for the sake of power."

"No. I did it to save my brothers. Your brothers." Jack held an arm high. "I did it so that I could better destroy the enemies that threatened to destroy us. The same enemies that stand on that pulpit, telling us we will have to earn their love! We do not want their love, do not need it! We stood firm on Shanxi, we must stand firm now!"

"The High Overseer wills it."

"We will not stand with heretics."

"You cannot understand … you are beyond saving."

"I accepted the mark because I placed my fellow humans before my honor." Jack stood in the harsh sun, blinking away sudden tears. The overseers closed in, all around. One of them bore a music box, which he cranked slowly. The sound it made … it was enough to drive a man mad. "You cannot kill this man at the behest of aliens. You cannot. The blood shed at Shanxi must be answered for."

"Remember Shanxi!" Someone else screamed it, and a bottle arced over the pulpit, struck a watching Palvanus in the head. Without warning, the crowd, previously scattered, _surged_ , some watch among them. "No blood for aliens!"

Guns went off. People screamed. Blood spattered against sand, and the hounds were loosed. And now, far in the distance, klaxons sounded. _A riot. I started a riot._

Banes still waited on the pulpit, bleeding about the temple, hands and mouth bound. Jack teleported to him, undid the restraints with a sharp swipe. A Palvanus lunged, talons flashing, only to bounce off the shield. Jack aimed high, and the head parted from the shoulders easily enough. He sheathed his blade with blue blood still stuck to its metal.

 _Wait. Those aren't regular klaxons._ Jack shoved that thought to the back of his mind, taking Banes under his shoulder and pulling him off, not even sure he would get that far supporting the man's weight. He kept a pistol at the ready in his free hand, warding off anyone who drew close. _I will not harm my brothers … even as they go astray._

"Ship!" Miranda, running forward, her own blade drawn, Oleg behind. "Ships above! It's-"

Screams, but not from the crowd. A noise, immense and hideous, erupted from the clouds above. Jack gasped, the breath stolen from his throat at the volume, hands to his ears, reddening from the sound…

Hounds screamed. All about him things fell to the ground from a great height, and Jack stumbled on one, felt the bones crunch. _Birds._ Birds rained from the sky, stone dead from whatever it was. A music box burst into flame, the overseer carrying it frantically undoing the straps. The remaining Palvanus stood atop the pulpit, pointed and hissed.

A ship. A black ship, of unfamiliar make. The sound ceased at its approach, replaced by engines. As it closed the distance, Jack felt that same sensation from before, on the hull of the _Cerberus_ , as if something were staring back at him. The ship stopped directly above, and ropes fell from the deck.

"Hargaz! Humah!" Guttural noises from above, humanoid figures sliding down the ropes, hooked spears tied to their backs. Their faces were obscured, and their armor black as pitch. One turned to Jack immediately, extended a hand.

"With me, Harper."

Jack stopped. He looked back to Miranda and Oleg, who only stared at the figures, hands still to their ears, eyes glassy with shock. _People moving to claim me … not all of them human._

"By all that you once held dear…" An overseer, bleeding from half a dozen stab wounds, crawling towards Jack with an arm outstretched. "…do not go with them. Heed your own words…"

"It's us or him." The masked being, whoever he was, pointed to the pulpit. The Palvanus stared him down, unblinking even as a brick sailed by his head. "Choose, as your Abbey did. We will not harm you, Void Friend."

"Take my friends." _I hope Jiang gets the right idea and runs for it._ Jack pointed to Oleg and Miranda, budged Banes. "And him. Do it."

"Kamaz!" The creature jerked to its compatriots, who grabbed the two of them. Jack extended a hand. The creature grabbed him, secured Banes about the waist, and jerked the rope twice.

Jack ascended, Intai'sei vanishing below in a haze of violence. The riot looked even more fearsome from above, weapons discharging from both sides, the clash of steel on steel … the hellish sound had done little to subside it, it seemed.

The deck was made wholly of smooth steel, its hardness reassuring under Jack's feet. The other three humans watched in blank shock as their rescuers bellowed instructions to get underway. The ship climbed into the atmosphere, the atmo-shield sliding into place over the deck. The foremost rescuer turned to Jack, head cocked. He reached for his mask.

"Ka'hairal Balak," he said, revealing four eyes and a mouth full of needle teeth. He gave what was an unmistakable grin. "You made the right choice, Void Friend."

Two invasions. One to kill him, one to save him. Jack stared back blankly at the strange creature and felt for his saber. _Still here._ The others coughed weakly behind him, still in shock. Jack pulled the glove from his left hand, revealed it to Balak. The smile grew larger.

"Oh, yes. You made the right choice. We … have a great deal to discuss."

* * *

Harsh plateaus of purple. A whale floating in the emptiness, its hollow cries echoing through the cold. Jack had hoped sleep would bring relief from the batarians and their overeager smiles and slave-run ships, but it seemed there was no escaping just what he had done. _By all that you had once held dear, do not go with them._

"And so it comes to this." The Outsider stood at the edge of a jagged landscape, the wind whipping about him, making his clothes ripple violently. "The batarians claimed you, as I thought they would, and you resolve yourself to simple vengeance."

"You take issue with me killing people who despise you?" Jack folded his arms, unwilling to back down. "They saved me, because of _your_ mark."

"They saved you because you are a valuable piece on their board. A piece they now position against their foes." The Outsider turned, eyes black as onyx. "You could be so much more, Jack. Instead, the Abbey runs to the turians, and you to the batarians."

"It is my choice to make." _Even though Balak's words reek of honey, his dinners are all too bloody, and I have seen the slaves working the engines …_ "I have find meaning in your gift. I will use it to repulse this "Council" and kill their agents. Humanity will stand without their influence. Without the turians. I will serve the Abbey still, by severing their bond with those _things._ "

The Outsider stared at him with what might have been disappointment.

"It is fortunate that, through your making, I got all that I needed from you." He waved a hand. "Go. It is likely we will not speak again. I can scarcely imagine you doing something of consequence, blinded as you are."

"Sooner or later I'm going to kill someone important." Jack clenched a fist, his mark flaring. "And I don't need eyes anymore. Not with these gifts."

"How quickly humans turn from horror at my mark, to glee at what they can now do."

"So I have disappointed you? Good."

"It's nothing to be proud of." The Outsider frowned. "Jack … I can see so many possibilities in your future. You had to pick the one that would always end at the point of a blade, one way or another."

Jack felt for his saber, but it was absent in the Void. The wind picked up again.

"There is nothing more to discuss." The Outsider's voice echoed. "Go then. Lash out. Kill those with no means to stop you, as those in power always seem to. But just remember…"

Jack's vision blurred, head suddenly heavy as true sleep took hold of him.

"…the clock will soon strike twelve."

* * *

 **A/N: Alright, narrative should get more straightforward from here on out, and the chapters should not get this long again. Imagine the Dishonored DLC and you'll get a good idea of what to expect. Big time skip imminent!**


	5. Stone Mind

_The batarians told us what would come to pass. The Council's apology. The opening of trade routes. Gradual assimilation. They propped up the ruins of Shanxi with steel and bone, planted the dead in gold-trimmed coffins, paid for the Ecclesiarchy. But I didn't see anyone coming back to life because of the turians' forced apology. And I hadn't seen enough turians die just yet._

 _Balak smiled when I told him that. He took us to places we could make that a reality._

 _The Spymaster was quick to get ahold of us, once the second year was past and space no longer looked as foreign, empty, and frozen. We were on a distant world then, only four of us, a long way from familiar shores. She told us we would have a chance to serve the Empire. We would have a steady stream of recruits, if we wanted them, disillusioned Royal Marines and intelligence personnel who were willing to go off the books to get things done._

 _We would even be able to go home._

 _That woman took a very … secular approach to things. The salarians had their own agents marked by the Outsider. The Terminus was known to house a few. We would need something of our own. The agreement made sense. And through her, other contacts cropped up. But never the High Overseer, and it was not hard to see why. Day by day, more turians appeared in the abbeys. Our abbeys. They preached to our masses. Occasionally, we even preached to theirs. Day by day, the sacrifices made by our brothers who stood at Shanxi looked to be less and less meaningful._

 _They called us the Hounds of the Terminus, a name I encouraged in Valor's memory. We could not be hidden from. We could not be fought off. We saw and heard everything._

 _Oleg took me aside one day, the old scar twitching as he furrowed his brow._

" _Our numbers swell, and the bodies stack up," he said, gesturing with a sleeve still decorated in the golden patterns of the Overseers. "Where do you see this going, Jack?"_

" _Kill those who have it coming," I replied, clenching a gloved fist. "Kill for the Empire. Only for good reason. Put the Outsider's mark to good use." I didn't tell him that, as time went on, I considered large sums of money to be a good enough reason. Our numbers increased yearly. And the Spymaster could not afford to send too much our way. Meanwhile, the batarians proved consistently overgenerous while their contracts spawned a considerable amount of catharsis._

 _As for the Outsider, he said nothing. My dreams are nothing more than heavy smoke, echoing with the soft moans of distant whale song._

 _It is no matter. We do not need him anymore._

Jack's eye opened to bright grey skies. The metal paneling slid away above him, revealing the churning overhead smog, lit by a blinding white sun. For a moment, he forgot where he was, his mind sliding back to the alleys of Dunwall as a child, back to Whitecliff, then the abbey, then countless other worlds he had awoken drenched in sweat with a pounding head … before finally jolting back here, now.

Muscle memory took hold before anything else, the left hand sweeping before his twitching eyelids before he could fully grasp his surroundings. At once the world pulsed with blue light, the walls becoming transparent while the tubes and wiring within them glistened like worms after a heavy rain. Jack's head turned, his eyes piercing through wood, steel, and flesh … not that there was any flesh. His VI clicked and whirred, its form silhouetted in dull purple, waiting for his command. Jack sighed and let the vision fade, his sight slipping into mundanity once more.

"Outie, time."

"Seven forty-nine, Korlus standard, western hemisphere, section three." The VI chirped and hummed, its clockwork grinding against itself. It was easy to forget that, under the glowing orange lines, this little floating machine consisted mostly of exposed wiring and twisting gears. "Three messages."

"From?"

Outie clicked and whirred. "I have already decrypted all messages. Messages left by: Miranda Lawson. Reina Azerah. Ka'hairal Balak."

Jack grunted in surprise. "Balak? It's been a while." He rose from his bed, head in hands, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He took a moment to stare at the mark on his left hand, still clear and crisp as the day it had been burned into him. He stood and waved a hand. "Play first message."

"Jack, it's Miranda." Jack rolled his eyes at this. _Like I couldn't tell._ He descended the small set of stairs from his bed and walked to his cupboards with purpose, keeping an ear out even as hands sped by hunger made their rounds for the tins and small packets. "Job went well, no collateral. That's the last pro-Council Morleyan holdout dealt with. Made sure it looks deniable, in case your spymaster takes offense." Jack snorted at that, hands wrestling with a can opener as it slowly wrested open the tin of jellied eels. They fell into the waiting wooden bowl with a morose splat. A sprinkling of salt followed.

"I'm back planetside, if you want to hear more." _Translated: tell you what a clever girl you are, and how lucky we are to have you._ Jack's lips grew thin. She was always hungry for approval, despite so often being a worthy recipient of it. The tap squeaked as he poured himself a cup of water, watching the liquid run into the cup, and then over and into the sink.

"One more thing: we have a new recruit, fresh out of the Corsairs. Claims to have originally been a Royal Marine, and his story checked out. Made his way here, only got stopped by the moat. Definite potential, once the arrogance is worn out. If he survives. Stop by Oleg when you get a chance. We've tied him up for the time being."

"Hmm." _Corsairs. Drawn a few recruits from there._ He took a sip from the cup as he planted the quivering bowl of eels on to the bare wooden table. _No guarantee he won't end up like so many others, though. Bleeding out on the cold stone floor._ _Like Whitecliff …_ but that was not worth remembering. Not anymore. Any similarities between the training of the Hounds and Overseers were entirely coincidental.

"I have written out a report as well, for your perusal, and would be happy to debrief you further in person. On a final note, I will say that your opinions on chandeliers are entirely correct, and if any more bloody noblemen install them in their homes, they are asking for it. I will see you soon." _Rich, coming from the daughter of a Duke._ Jack sucked down another jellied eel, wiping some of the juices from his lips with a bare wrist.

"Let's hear what the spymaster has to say."

"Jack: I know that was you." A pang in the stomach. Jack shut his eyes and nodded. _Doesn't miss a trick, does she?_ "Three members of parliament in a year, Jack? People have noticed. They've noticed that publicly supporting the Council, or any of their positions, tends to get them killed." _Only the Shanxi apologists. But I'm sure you'll gloss over that, won't you?_

"The situation is escalating, Jack. Dunwall still sits firmly on the side of free trade and regulation of Outsider artifacts – in other words, the Council's position – but the countryside and colonies are getting restless. Every time you press a little more firmly on your end of the scales, you risk tipping the whole thing over. Whoever is giving you these commissions, start turning them down. Immediately. This is your one warning."

The message cut off sharply with a snap of static, making the back of Jack's neck prickle. _Problematic._ If there was one person in the Empire who could almost certainly make good on a threat to him, it would be the Spymaster. She didn't know where on Korlus they were based … but she likely had a damn good idea. _May have to lay low for a time. Sharpen our knives on Terminus necks._ It wasn't like there was ever a shortage of lowlifes with prices on their heads, anyway.

"Last message."

"Jack. We need to talk. In person." Jack's eyebrows raised at this, and he turned to face the floating machine as the message went on. "Korlus. I will be there at seven in the evening. Send a confirmation if we can use your lodgings. I can think of no place more secure – other than the base itself, which I know is out of the question. Look forward to seeing you soon, _kredum._ "

"Told him not to call me that…" But it was an old, well-worn protest, devoid of substance at this point. Jack stared at Outie thoughtfully. "Send a confirmation. Encrypted. And send word ahead to the Hounds. Be there in about an hour." He paused. "Tell them to try not to kill the recruit before I get there."

"Acknowledged." Outie's clockwork whirred and ground. "Messages sent. Will there be anything else?"

"Keep scanning the extranet." Jack waved one hand while the other lifted the last of the eels into his mouth. "That will be all." Jack rose and deposited his fork and bowl in the sink. He turned away … only for his shoulders to lower at the memory of a switch across his lower back. He returned to the sink and dutifully washed them with a thinning bar of soap. _Some lessons never fade … particularly those born of pain._ He returned up the stairs with his ears slightly burning, as if the eyes of Proctor Thurman were still on him.

The heat felt particularly intense today, even half-naked as Jack was. He ordered the overhead shutters closed and pulled the footlocker from under his bed. The metal clanked and shuddered from above, and the harsh light faded from around the bed. From under it, he pulled the footlocker loose. It opened with a clunk.

 _Every day, a little more worn._ Jack pulled his sabre from its scabbard, lips twitching at its surface. Despite being pitted and scarred with countless scratches and despite its hilt showing fingerprints now, no matter how much Jack cleaned it, the blade still gleamed dully in the muted half-light, its edge still keen. The old Overseer runes running up and down the blade, however, were now only barely visible. Fifteen years left its mark, one way or another, despite one's best efforts. Jack set the blade aside with a sigh, hands reaching inside the footlocker for the clothes chosen the day previous; the same as always.

To the laymen it was difficult to recognize that a whaler's gear was a functional hardsuit, but what business did whalers have in space if they could not survive within it for a time? The leather was only a decoration over the far more reliable (and expensive) composite materials that sealed its wearer against the hazards of space. _And blood can be cleaned from both just fine._ Made sense. Jack had seen how much blood whales contained.

The belt and boots came on second-to-last, locking into place on the suit. The sword came on over it, the scabbard bouncing neatly against Jack's left thigh. That left just the mask. He took it with him to the mirror bolted haphazardly to the wall across from his bed.

"The sword ages with me." It wasn't the first time Jack had mused that. Just as the metal accumulated scars and lost its definition, so too did its owner. Old cuts that refused to fully fade, changing from angry red to sullen pink. Hair that had yet to thin, but nevertheless had grayed to the point Jack no longer recognized it. But the eyes…

It must have been a slow thing. He could remember each scar and the first of the gray hairs washing down the drain, but the steady pollution of his vision must have been deadly slow to creep up on him as it once did. Was there a day when he awoke to find his old eyes steadily accumulating that unnatural color? To find the tint of brilliant aqua in the natural dull brown?

Jack blinked. The room dimmed slightly in the half-instant before his eyes opened again. Everything else about Jack faded. But not the blue fire dancing within his sockets. He pulled the mask over his face, feeling a strange mix of sorrow and pride. It marked him as special. It inspired fear in the hearts and minds of friend and foe alike.

It meant he could never be in public without covering his eyes in some fashion. A whaler stared back at him from the mirror.

"Outie, I'm gone. Ping me if anything else comes up."

"Yes, Jack."

Jack turned from his own image and proceeded down the stairs once more and unbolted a window. A light and foul-smelling wind blew in as he flung it open. Korlus, dull and gray and rotten, stared back at him, an ocean of rusting moldering trash waiting to be waded into. Jack clenched his fist.

There was a reason Balak considered his small apartment to be secure. Jack's quarters were unique in that Jack never used a front door, because he didn't have one. Or any door for that matter. He did, however, have a window large enough for a man to step through, if he were able to scale a sheer and grimy stone wall of sixty feet.

Jack released his grip and vanished, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and sweat in his wake. The VI dutifully closed the window behind him.

Korlus, sometimes known as the garbage heap of the galaxy. Jack had heard it said one could track the galactic development of spacefaring vessels by simply visiting a scrap heap and walking from one end of it to the other. The bulk of the planet's landmass these days was little more than a vast graveyard for the galaxy's ships of yesterday, felled either by misfortune or irrelevancy. Here, Jack did not blink from balcony to balcony as he would on another planet of equal population, but rather from the pitted red hulls of long dead vessels, the soles of his boots scraping against the floor as he maintained his pace.

To be fair to his planet of residence, however, Korlus was not merely known for its mounds of scrap that stretched into the horizon. It was also infamous for its preposterous rate of offworlder murder, a statistic Jack would sheepishly admit he contributed to on occasion. It was a grim, wasted world, whose denizens were tight-lipped and quick to anger, even more so than the usual Terminus rabble. When Balak had first introduced Jack to it many years ago, his response had been disgust.

Jack's response was still disgust. But he recognized the value of basing his people in such a location. And the smell was not so bad, when one got used to it.

The noses of three ships stretched up into the gray skies, leaning against one another as if it were some ghastly attempt at creating a pyramid through scrap. Whether placed there by accident, by some ancient and long-unheeded garbage pileup protocol, or indeed deliberately as some part of art piece, Jack could not see, but it was the only real landmark among the irradiated trash for quite some miles. A steaming river of sludge ringed the base of the three craft. What ground did exist rose and fell unevenly, studded continuously by pieces of rebar and jagged pieces of metal. A hazardous place to walk.

Jack raised his left hand and clenched it, letting the mark burn high. From high above, a figure, their mottled grey and brown attire perfectly camouflaging them against the backdrop of ruined metal, nodded and retreated back into the recesses of the makeshift tower. Jack let the magic flow through him, and the rust particles halted their course in midair as he prepared to blink. He released his grip, and strolled without pause into the crack between the former salarian freighter, _Montovesto_ , and the long derelict volus penitence ship, _Greed's Folly._

Inside the crush of vessels revealed the years long work of the Hounds. Rope bridges crossed between the three ships at the center, suspended by steel pegs that had no difficulty in puncturing the ancient metal. Some led to the ship interiors, while others led to ladders that could be scaled to find entrance elsewhere. Small balconies swayed in the light breeze, lashed to the ships by yet more rope. Some bore the occasional shelter where Hounds might stand under to avoid the harshness of the Korlus sun while on watch. In the center of the crush of three ships, behind a half-hearted safety railing erected at Oleg's insistence, two lengthy chains swung in the emptiness. Below could be heard the clatter of swords, the light echoes of laughter.

"Master." One of his Hounds nodded to Jack from above, and Jack returned the gesture. Another watched from a balcony across from him. When their gaze met, the Hound crossed his left arm across his chest and straightened his back before vanishing into smoke to resume his patrol. _All seems to be in order._ Jack strode to the railing and looked down.

Someone unfamiliar with the base and possessed of an imagination might have looked down and proclaimed with astonishment that they had built a small settlement underground. The truth was less exciting. For one, their numbers were barely thirty, which really was not much of a settlement. For another, they had not been the ones to dig at the earth and turn these ships into a base of operations. Eclipse had been here before them before abandoning the planet a few years back, and had carved out a good amount of space for themselves. For three, few actually lived here for any real length of time; everyone had their offworld assignments and others preferred the privacy of their own quarters.

Nevertheless, the railings, the balconies, the ropes and ladders, those were all the result of Hounds' work. Mostly Jack, Miranda, Banes, and Oleg, truth be told, but others had played their part over the years. Jack breathed in the familiar scents of sweat, leather, and incense, and smiled under the mask. The clash of steel on steel rang out from below – two Hounds testing their mettle against one another, left hand folded behind their back while the right sent their blades flicking out. Sparks flew from one particularly spirited collision, sending a few muffled gasps followed by quiet laughter from onlookers.

With another hushed breath, Jack focused his energy on the bottom of the pit, appearing next to an initiate in purple leather in a puff of unnatural smoke. The sparring Hounds continued, oblivious, and no one on the ground turned to see him.

"Leng." Kai Leng started at this, head jerking to face Jack's. Jack smiled at his obvious annoyance and confusion. The longer they bore Jack's mark, the more easily he could tell them apart, just by … looking. The masks meant nothing. He would be able to recognize Miranda from several miles standing atop a mountain these days. "Hope you didn't rough up our Corsair friend."

"Nothing that won't heal." Leng at least had the good grace to sound defensive rather than smug. One of the two sparring Hounds turned to face Jack, doubtlessly gaping underneath the mask, only to be clouted about the face by his opponent's fist, sending up a roar of laughter from the onlookers above. The Hound sprawled on all fours, panting, before being helped up by his opponent. _A lesson there. Do not forget it._ In a true fight, being distracted in such a manner would mean maiming or death.

Others gathered around Jack and Leng while the fighters adjourned, their arms folded behind their backs. Most bore the purples of advanced service. Save two. Miranda stood flanked by two purple Hounds, both of whom dwarfed her slight figure. Oleg watched from a balcony above, frowning. He alone did not wear a mask. Leng jerked a thumb towards Miranda. "She's the one who told me to do it."

"I should have emphasized that restraining someone does not always require blows to the face." Miranda was smirking under her mask. Jack could practically hear it. "I forgot who I was dealing with. Allow me to emphasize this: trying to pass off your brutish incompetence to my leadership, Leng, is an unwise career choice."

"Heh." Leng shrugged amiably. "You chose a hammer for needlework. Not the hammer's fault if things get broken."

"He's not the first to bleed a little to get here." All fell silent at Jack's words, but Jack waved this off. "I'm not interested in casting blame for some cuts and bruises, so long as they heal." He turned to Miranda. "Take me to him. And Oleg! I want you with us."

"Of course, Jack." Oleg pushed himself from the railing above and vanished. The other Hounds dispersed, Leng casting a single lingering look back at Miranda as he slouched off. Miranda and Jack departed side by side for the dirt ramp downwards, where the air grew a little colder, a little less full of foul stench.

"Banes isn't back yet," Miranda said by means of introduction. "Fincher and Bletchley are still stuck on the Citadel waiting for their target, and Irwin was turned away from Omega. One of Aria's people met him at the hangar and told him Hounds weren't welcome there anymore."

"Unfortunate." _Truth be told, it was only a matter of time._ People marked by the Outsider were some of the few people Aria could not personally best in combat. Historically, she had never liked letting them run loose. "And your mission? Another chandelier kill?"

Miranda sniffed. "Leng was right. They make quite the mess. Some will no doubt suspect foul play, but I left no evidence." Her right hand, seemingly unconsciously, felt for her left, stroking where his faint mark could be found under the leather of her glove. "I am sure of it."

"Azerah still knows it was us." Jack raised a hand and waited. A few moments later, Oleg came shuffling into the tunnel, wiping his nose. He nodded to Jack. "Oleg. Got a call from the Royal Spymaster."

"New job?" Oleg said this as if he knew this was a fool's hope. Jack shook his head.

"A warning. That's the last hit we're doing in the Empire for a while, let alone Dunwall. She fears further political destabilization."

"She would be the expert on that." Jack frowned at this. He thought he detected a faint hint of … approval in his tone. "At least she was kind enough to send us another recruit. It's been a while."

"We're not exactly hurting for agents." Jack kept his tone even. "While another set of hands is usually welcome, our current numbers have been sufficient."

Oleg did not reply. For a few moments, the only sound was that of boots on rough soil.

"Balak sent word." Jack noted as Oleg's boots scuffed against the soil in surprise. "I'll be seeing him later today. Not here, of course."

"Of course." Miranda sniffed. "I do not remember the last batarian job fondly. They seem to equate the Outsider's mark with being invincible." Again, she absentmindedly rubbed her left hand.

"They always pay well, and if we owe anyone anything, we owe Balak and his people our freedom." That had been the line, that had always been the line. "I'll be sure to pass on whatever he says … and if I vanish, you will know who to blame."

"The Hegemony keeps trying to get chummy with the Empire." Oleg looked to Jack, the frown on his face making him look even more wrinkled than usual. "If I had to hazard a guess, they will be coming to blows with Azerah sooner or later, if they haven't already. If they give us a job in Dunwall, Jack, what will you tell them?"

"That I am a creature of the Empire, first and foremost." Jack frowned. Up ahead, several dull cells ringed by thick metal bars waited for them, their appearance heralded by a faint stench of urine. "I do not serve their interests, or anyone's interests, before that of our people's." They stopped before the cells. A man in a somewhat soiled whaler's suit glared blearily up at them from the leftmost corner of the back of his cell. The rightmost featured a large patch of moisture.

"I was told to come here," he stated without emotion. "I was told I could make a difference, free from any constraint of bureaucracy … of oversight."

"You were not the first. And you heard correctly." Jack stepped forward, folding his arms and looking down at this Royal Marine, this Corsair who would be a Hound. "And you even came dressed appropriately."

"People don't look twice at you if you wear a whaler's getup." Jack nodded at this in agreement. Half of the people who came this far made the mistake of making the trip in their dress blues in order to make an impression. More often than not, this meant they were tailed by about five or six different groups who took an intense interest in just why a lone officer of the Empire would bother to dress up for a hike in the middle of a stinking ship graveyard.

The cleanup was always messy. _And this one spared me the trouble._

Jack took another look at the man. His features were Serkonan, probably from around Karnaca. A short layer of thin black hair covered his scalp and chin, and from what Jack could make out through the mostly shapeless clothing, his arms and legs were thick with muscle. _To be expected._

"You've come this far." Jack glanced to Miranda, who shrugged, and Oleg, who nodded. "Hmph. We might have uses for you. But let me make this clear." Jack leaned in, the acid stench of urine growing stronger as he did so. "Anyone they send here is considered useful, but expendable. No one will come looking if we find you more a hindrance than a help … and we cannot let word of this place escape under any circumstances. Do you understand me?"

"What do you think they told me in the Corsairs?" The prisoner stood to his full height, just past Jack's own. "I did not come here to fail."

"Then let us see what you can do."

Miranda undid the bolts and slid the bar across the door. The prisoner staggered out, limbs clearly a little stiff. Jack motioned for him to follow and did not turn to check if he complied. Miranda and Oleg brought up the rear, hands likely on their hilts.

"Where I came from, my superiors were in the habit of killing those who could not meet their lofty expectations." Jack spoke clearly, voice bouncing in the tunnel. "If the fear of death could not spur us to greater heights, then what would? All of the fat was cut away, leaving only raw muscle and bone. As a marine and Corsair, I am sure you understand."

They emerged into the chamber proper. The circle where the two Hounds once sparred lay empty. From above, Hounds gathered and watched at the railing, while others hastily cottoned on to what was happening and began forming a ring around the center of the circle.

"The training you will undertake here is of a different nature." Jack stood in the center of the circle and turned to the Serkonan, who did not flinch. "You know how to fight. Perhaps even how to kill. That is good. But there are forces beyond flesh and steel." Jack nodded to Oleg, who stepped forward, pulling his blade free. "I must first see that you have mastered the mundane before gifting you those forces."

The Serkonan stared with narrowed eyes at Jack, before starting as another sword was shoved roughly in his direction. He took it hesitantly, feeling the weight and heft of the blade.

"You will face Oleg, and you will draw blood. Then your training will continue." Jack stepped backward. The other waiting Hounds parted wordlessly, leaving space for him in the circle. "You will do this, or you will die. And you will not be the first. For every one of us that stands here, two do not. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Jack wrinkled his nose at this. The Serkonan drew his blade up, letting it rest vertically before his face before swishing it downward in an impressive salute. Oleg nodded in approval before returning the gesture.

The two stood roughly ten feet apart. The Hounds watched, expressions impossible to discern beneath the masks. No doubt they all recalled their own duels with Oleg, Miranda, or Banes. A few, an unlucky few, could even recall a duel with Jack himself, when the other three were unavailable. An old scar on Jack's shoulder twinged at the thought. _Getting slower. Oleg, too._ The much younger man readied himself, and Jack thought he heard Oleg sigh.

"To Oleg's first blood, or your death. No shields." Jack raised his arms. "Begin."

Oleg lunged forward with a speed even Jack found surprising. The Serkonan's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his blade was even faster, meeting Oleg's in a sudden scream of metal. The blades interlocked, and the Serkonan surged forward, shoulders first, throwing Oleg backwards. The Hounds remained silent, not budging even as Oleg almost careened into them. He straightened just in time to sidestep the Serkonan's own heavy blow, his blade flicking out to graze his opponent's right arm. The Serkonan grunted, his arm weeping red, but he did not falter. The two circled, now, blades raised.

Oleg had once asked what would happen if an initiate inadvertently killed one of them in this opening duel.

"Then clearly we would have had no further use for you," Jack had replied, and everyone present had agreed that was only fair. Still, Jack could not help but feel a stab in his gut as he watched Oleg's arms, the way they slightly trembled with exertion. The Serkonan had the gift of youth, and it was not as if the Corsairs were gentle with their own recruits. Despite being wounded, the young soldier's own grip remained rock steady, and his eyes remained full of determination, not fear.

The Serkonan took the first step forward, blade flicking out, testing the waters. Oleg retreated, footwork impeccable as always, but when the Corsair advanced greedily, Oleg did not punish him for the lost ground. Oleg's back now brushed the edge of his peers, and he circled away from the unflinching edges of the ring, trying to find some room. The Corsair advanced again, the blade flashing. Once more, steel met steel, and Oleg gasped at his opponent's strength.

The Corsair kept swinging, his face stuck somewhere between a wolfish grin and a pained grimace, his arm leaking fluid all the while. Oleg ducked some blows, sidestepped others, and blocked the few that came too close. Sweat flowed freely from the Corsair's face, but he did not slow. He left patches of red in the dust wherever he walked, but seemed to pay the wound little mind. Oleg, meanwhile, labored and gasped whenever their blades met, and the shuffling of his feet grew a little less certain with each passing moment. Still, the Corsair had not managed to lay a single cut on him, and the frustration clearly mounted every time the air whistled with a blow unstruck. The Corsair muttered strange curses under his breath as his blade failed to connect yet again.

With a strangled cry, the Corsair took a leap forward, blade blurring. As if expecting this, Oleg stepped to the side surprisingly nimbly, not even flinching as the Corsair's blade came slicing up in a swift arc as the followup blow. Oleg held to his blade with both hands and met the blade with a hideous screaming sound, the swords snagging. Oleg stepped forward, blade running jaggedly against the Corsair's, aiming a kick at his knees. With a groan, the Corsair fell gracelessly, blade spinning away from him while Oleg's fell neatly to his side. Oleg stepped forward, bringing his blade up in preparation to drive the point forward, only for the Corsair to bring his head up, eyes wide with fear, left arm snapping across his face, leaving a trail of aqua.

Oleg's legs flew out from under him, sword skidding across the dirt. The Corsair stood first, panting, but Jack held up his hand.

"Stop!" The Corsair looked up, teeth bared, fists clenched. His right hand still glowed a brilliant blue. "Enough! Oleg, stand."

Oleg stood, shaking, dusting off his suit. He glanced warily at the Serkonan before retreating back to the circle, leaving his sword where it lay.

Jack stepped forward, his own fists clenched. He maintained his distance from the Corsair, but his mark flared underneath his glove. _One wrong move, here…_

"We've never been sent a biotic before," said Jack, remaining perfectly still. "That might have been worth bringing up."

"I needed a trump card if things got ugly." The Corsair choked this out in between breaths, the whites of his eyes clearly showing. He chuckled, but there was no humor in it, just a bit of foam at the mouth. "They told us in the Corsairs that it ain't to be used as a crutch."

 _We'd always wanted a biotic._ Jack stared at this recruit, wondering. The Empire had precious few to spare, to the point that none could be called … dispensable. And yet, here the Spymaster had sent a biotic, a biotic Corsair, even, to the Hound's den. _She should have let us know. Shedding this one's blood … it would be a waste._

Jack glanced back to Oleg, who nodded. _Serve the Empire first. And the Hounds need this._ Miranda offered no reaction other than folded arms. Jack stepped forward further, left hand outstretched.

"Your name."

"Jacob Taylor." He did not budge. His hand did not stop glowing. To be fair, neither did Jack's as he turned it palm down and showed off the mark. Jacob's eyes widened further.

"Do you pledge to serve me without question, and through me to serve the Empire … by any means necessary?" Jack locked his eyes with Jacob, whose gaze softened somewhat. The blue faded.

"I did once. I'll do it again."

"You will be no friend of the Abbey once this is done." Jack kept his voice steady. "You may be called to distant shores to do violence without any promise of rescue if things turn sour. But you will have power … power that no others can possess. Power that will grow as your loyalty to me grows." Jack waited for Jacob to kneel, but he did not. He merely (hesitantly) extended his own left hand, which shook slightly; whether it was from exertion or fear, Jack could not say.

"Free from oversight? From the red tape?" Jack sensed the importance of this question.

"I am your only oversight. And do you see any paperwork around here?" Jack reached out, left hand grasping Jacob's firmly. He felt his own mark burn, flashing red beneath the glove, and Jacob grunted in pain as the heat wormed it way through Jack, and into him.

"Wherever you walk, I will be able to find you. You are marked. For death by the Abbey. For greatness by me."

The smell of burned leather permeated the air, but this was hardly new. The others looked on as the first biotic Hound drew his hand back and peeled his glove off. There, sealed raw and red into his flesh, was the thirty-fifth mark Jack had shared. His skin smoked faintly as the mark began to glow.

"I do not know how our gifts will play into your biotics, Mr. Taylor." Jack clapped the Corsair on the shoulder. "But I do look forward to finding out."

* * *

Jack could not quite recall the last time he and Balak had met. He remembered blood on his hands, blood under his armor, and the red smile of a contract fulfilled … but the exact time and location of their meeting escaped him. Even the amount paid on completion no longer sprang readily to mind. But he did remember how the batarian loped his way to the base of Jack's tower and bellowed into the skies to be let in.

Watching the alien approach now from his perch on the window's ledge, Jack felt the faint stirrings of familiarity. Balak took the same route, even half-marched, half-slouched his way across the baked and rusted hellscape of Korlus as if his inner self were at war on how to present himself: as a well-respected officer of the Hegemony, or a soldier aware of the danger of his surroundings? _I remember thinking this at our last meeting. When was that?_

Jack could no longer remember. He waited for Balak to speak as he finally stumbled to the base of the tower, hands fumbling at the surface as if trying to find some purchase. _That would be a foolish climb._

"Jack! I am here!" Balak raised his hands high, twitching them slightly. Jack smirked.

"Outie. Lower the rope."

"Acknowledged." The hovering VI spat out a length of rope, sending it plummeting below. As soon as Jack heard the muffled thump below, Outie anchored itself to the window sill, clamping down and waiting for Balak to begin his climb. Jack saw Balak's shoulders slump before he seized the rope and planted his legs against the wall. Jack waited patiently, tapping his finger against the side of the ledge to the time of Balak's fatigued grunts. The sound grew steadily louder. As soon as he could hear the tapping of the batarian's feet against the metal, Jack swung himself back over into his home.

Balak's head finally peeked over the top of the window, his right hand clawing against the edge as he tried to pull himself up. Jack reached out and grabbed the glove, remembering not to pull too hard like last time. Balak gasped and wheezed as he dragged his carcass through the opening, doubling over coughing as his feet finally touched solid ground.

"At least you did me the kindness of sending a rope." Balak wiped his mouth before standing, his clothing rumpled and stained with sweat. "Hmm. The hair on your head … grayer than I remembered. Is that normal?"

"With age. Yes." Jack folded his arms behind his back. "And you … look about the same as I remember. Although I recall you had less difficulty with the rope last time."

Balak grinned, needle teeth glinting in the dying light of Korlus's sun. Jack did not miss how his lower set of eyes kept locked on Jack, but the upper two scanned the apartment.

"Dinner, I see?" _Funny that's the first thing he notices._ Jack nodded and gestured at the table, on which a small bowl of steaming meat sat. Balak clapped a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder before unslinging his backpack and setting it down. He strode to the table, still breathing heavily, and practically collapsed on to the waiting chair.

"Eat." Jack sat down at the opposite end of the table. "Everything else can wait. You've come a long way." Balak tucked in without a word. Jack pointedly looked away as the teeth came out. For all their other qualities, batarians were hopeless at aping human table manners, a product of the teeth and a belief that not demonstrating visible and audible enjoyment of a cooked dish was an insult to the chef.

Fortunately, Jack did not have to endure the sounds of strained sucking and frantic chewing for terribly long. Five minutes later, the bowl featured only a small pile of bones nearly picked clean. Balak stifled a belch into the crook of his elbow.

"Thank you. Now let me demonstrate my gratitude…" Balak rose with a single outstretched finger while he retrieved his belongings. Jack waited patiently, squinting as the light continued to fade.

Balak planted the backpack on the table with a clunk. He pulled free a portfolio stuffed with documents, a gleaming black Hegemony stamp planted on its front. He slid the portfolio to Jack, who stopped it with a hand.

"I can't do any more jobs within the Empire, Balak." Jack noted the way Balak paused. "The spymaster has made that clear. If this is a hit on someone within her borders…"

"Read it." Balak sat down again, placing his elbows on the table and leaning in. "Read it, and you will understand."

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes and opened the portfolio. He read the target's name. Then he read it again.

"Impossible." Jack's heart began to beat faster. "If this were within our power to do … we would have done it already."

"The timing is right. Everything has been laid out." Balak grinned, his eyes being outshined by his teeth as night fell. "You need only accept."

Jack read further down. The amount rewarded … outrageous. _And how much in advance?_ His heart beat a little faster.

"He hasn't left Ecclesiarchy space in almost seven years." Jack's eyes scanned the document, even as they ached at the strain. "Why now?"

"Who knows. But it bodes well for our efforts."

Dunwall. He would be going to Dunwall. Not an easy location by any means, especially the palace … that place had been designed to resist infiltration by men such as himself. That old heretic, Corvo, always had a bloodfly up his ass about placing spikes and tripwires on every bloody rooftop…

"I will leave the infiltration to you and yours, Jack, but we will be handling your exit."

Balak was not lying. The documents had dates, the names of the whalers they had bribed as well as their ships. A helpful map of the city even had potential routes from the palace to their getaways outlined in different colors, with annotations for each. Jack's heart beat faster, the red clawing its way to his cheeks.

 _They rained from the sky that day …_ The blood dully thudded through Jack's ears like distant cannon fire. His left hand burned at the memories flooding his mind. Old scars twinged at the recollection. Endless past fantasies and half-baked plans marched through his mind, all of them salted with the bitter aftertaste of distinct impossibility. The photo of the target stared up at him, defiant and resolute.

"We both know you have always wanted this." Balak leaned in, all four eyes fixed on Jack's own. "The opportunity is given freely. Only you could pull this off. Do you accept?"

 _Oleg will not approve._ The thought leapt unbidden into Jack's head. But … that wouldn't make sense. Oleg had to want vengeance as much as he did. This man … this turian had ruined their lives, forced them to heresy. _He will finally answer for Shanxi._

"General Desolas Arterius dies in six days," said Jack, snapping the portfolio shut. Balak nodded and smiled.

* * *

"I will begin making the arrangements."

"It can't be done."

"Can't? Or shouldn't?" Jack's eyes did not leave Oleg's wrinkled face, their cold blue light reflecting noticeably in Oleg's own. To Oleg's credit, he did not flinch. He only shrugged irritably.

"Shouldn't. Eh … both. Does it matter? The Empire's having a hard enough time managing tensions as it is, and here you want to kill a turian general in the capital."

"You losing your edge old man?" Leng leaned forward in his chair, sucking in his left cheek in a decidedly obnoxious manner. "Wait – I know the answer to that. We all do. You lost your balls to the general at Shanxi." Oleg's face reddened.

"That's enough." Jack shot a look at Leng, who only chuckled. Nevertheless, no further mockery was forthcoming. "Oleg, I understand your concerns…"

"I very much doubt that."

"We were just warned not to tip the scales any further, and now we've been presented with the opportunity of a lifetime." Jack raised an eyebrow. "That's the extent of it. Thirty-three million credits and one dead war criminal. Perhaps some chaos, yes … but can you remember the day they came, Oleg? You must, surely you must. The abbey assailed by cannon fire…"

"The Outsider walking amongst us." Oleg did not blink. "The turians made their choice and you made yours. Plenty died on both sides. I will not fault them for any of our life's woes past the initial invasion."

"Not even the brand on your face?" Miranda cocked an eyebrow.

"My choice," insisted Oleg. "And the Abbey's. If you want to blame anyone for Shanxi, blame the Ecclesiarch. It was on his order that Desolas marched. Maybe you should have asked Balak if that man's assassination was on the table, hmm?"

"Maybe." Jack's fingers thrummed against the paper-strewn table. "If it's in the cards, why not? But first, we must focus on what is possible, here."

"And it is possible." Miranda spun a paper around, sniffed. "In fact … it's alarmingly possible. It's like the stars all perfectly aligned to make this happen. The batarians have timetables, redundant escape routes, guard post listings … how in the hell did they come by all of this?"

"Balak said this was all a long time coming." _A very long time._ "I think they just waited until they had everything they needed before showing it to us. The fact that they're still willing to give us thirty-three million with this much assistance already…"

"This doesn't strike you as suspicious, Jack?" Oleg folded his arms. The mark on his face seemed to twitch in agony as he frowned. "A long time coming? This visit was planned only three weeks ago, and the batarians' generosity has always been bought with blood. They took us in when no one else would, but that butcher's bill … if I could go back, I would not have paid it."

"You would rather have been executed by our former brothers?" Jack thumped a fist against the table. "Oleg, please. The batarians have been fair to us for as long as we have known them. And what they are offering us now is not just fair. It is justice."

"Justice is just vengeance with a bit more paperwork attached to it." Oleg shoved away the map of Dunwall in disgust. He glanced to Miranda. "It's always been up to the three of us, ultimately." Jack tried to hide a smile as Leng scowled. _Doubtless Banes would have felt the same way if he was here._ "One for and one against. Miranda?" Jack caught the slight pleading tone.

Miranda looked first to Oleg, then to Jack. She gave a slight arch of the eyebrow. Jack nodded.

"They burned my city, too." Miranda produced a knife from her belt and slammed it into the table. It quivered for a few moments before Jack realized she had planted it in Desolas's face. "Oleg, with all due respect, we have the paperwork. This is justice."

Oleg opened his mouth as if to say something but thought better of it. He looked more tired than Jack had ever remembered seeing him. He inched a hand forward and dragged the maps back.

"Let my hands not be restless. I'll get you a route."

Jack smiled. "Good." He pointed to Leng and Miranda. "Both with me. It's time to make a general bleed."

* * *

 _Cold emptiness. A blasted island drifting in a void of howling wind and echoes of whale song. Jack shivered. He'd been here before. So many times. A single lamppost mounted on a chunk of errant rock drifted before him. Far in the distance, on that impossible horizon, gold light began to leak through the murk._

 _Bright. So bright. Yet … angry somehow. Fearsome. It made Jack want to turn and run, yet his footsteps only carried him forward. The shrieking wind seemed to have hooked teeth, sucking him in towards the intense gold that threatened to swallow him whole._

 _Jack felt for his blade to find the scabbard empty. He felt for his magic which now deserted him. He yelled for his friends, only to realize they were long dead. And as he dug in his heels and braced himself against the inevitable, something hateful stared at him through the gold. It strode forward on feet of clawed metal, a burning blade in hand. It was like staring into a sun. The beast opened its mouth to speak:_

"We are now approaching our destination at Dunwall port. Beginning our descent in five minutes."

Jack stirred, tried to rub his eyes only to find them smudging his tinted glasses. His right elbow brushed against Miranda's, who shifted out of the way. Jack's back ached.

"Bad dreams?" asked Miranda, her own gaze not leaving the bright screen in front of her seat. Jack glanced at it. Some asari political drama.

"Yeah." Jack felt for his gloved left hand. The mark did not burn. _Could just have been some fevered imagination. Nerves, maybe._ He could feel a bottom to his stomach, deeper and wider than any he had experienced in some time. Had they ever done a hit like this before?

"Was it him?" Miranda asked it so casually, as if such a question would not ever attract incredibly unwelcome attention.

"Maybe." Jack rested his arms across his lap, shivering slightly in the mild chill of the ship. "I saw … gold. Bright gold light."

"Doesn't sound like him." A small smile played at Miranda's lips. "He prefers his black and purple, right?"

"I don't want to talk about this." Already Jack cast a few sharp glances to the other side of the aisle. Three salarians all in a row, staring blankly at the moving pictures. No one's head craned towards their conversation, from what he could see. Still…

Jack swept two fingers across his eyes. The ship came alive as the seats and walls gave way to reveal the multitude of people and aliens sitting aboard it. With each breath, the vision seemed to pulse with energy. Two aboard the ship bore bone charms hidden about their person. One was the captain. Other than that, nothing appeared out of place.

"Relax, Jack." Miranda placed a hand gently on his knee for just a moment. "This is the easy bit."

"Be ironic if we all crashed and died here," Jack mumbled, closing his eyes as the ship began to bounce and a baby started to scream. "That would be … just like him. It would."

Yet the ship did not crash and burn. It landed, as ships always did, and the passengers unclipped their buckles with a collective sigh. Jack felt his own limbs click as he stretched them out. A strange hollow pain followed afterward, at the joints. His face twisted into an angry grimace. The pain did not fade quickly.

Jack's mood did not improve as the passengers began their listless shuffling off of the ship, pausing to gather their wretched belongings. Miranda and he quickly secured their overhead and walked in clipped fashion past the seats, offering strained smiles and nods at the asari flight attendants. The smiles became less strained as they descended the steps and felt the blast of air.

"Ah. Home." In truth, Jack had never lived in Dunwall, but he would forever be a servant of the Empire. _And here lies its beating heart._ The smells of salt and smoke carried on a chill breeze, the smokestacks and rising skyscrapers cutting across the smoggy horizon, and the loudspeakers reminding citizens of their duties and dangers … Dunwall. Every city of the Empire, only more so.

"It's been too long." Miranda, staring wistfully at the skyline. "Every time I return, the buildings have grown a little taller."

"Good for us." Jack jerked his head forward. "Come on."

Leng waited for them at the entrance to the starport proper, a toothpick held jauntily in mouth. He looked over his tinted glasses as they approached, his impatience all too clear. _A Tyvian spirit, still. This place must hold little nostalgia for him._

"Took your time, "Dad."" Leng extended a hand to Miranda, who took it with all the considerable grace she could muster. "Come on. We don't want to be late to the hotel. We have a dress rehearsal."

"Steady on, son." Jack clapped a shoulder down on Leng, hard. Leng's right knee buckled slightly. "We have plenty of time left on our schedule." _Which is fortunate, because there are far too many fucking elcor in the queue ahead._

"Sweetie, make sure you have your passport. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?" Kai flashed a dazzling smile.

"You trying to start shit with me again this soon before our wedding?" Leng looked taken aback, as if he were expecting snide wordplay back, instead. "If so, you're going to be a very disappointed man when it comes time to consummate this marriage and you find yourself sleeping on the couch downstairs."

"Sam, please," said Jack, trying to suppress a grin without much success, "not in front of me, I can't take it."

"Yes, please Sam, spare your father's ailing constitution."

"I'll ail your constitution in a minute, Sonny Jim."

They went on like that for a while, partly to establish their characters and build authenticity, partly to tacitly air out some grievances, and partly to alleviate the stifling boredom that came with border checkpoints frequented by elcor businessmen.

"Sir, what is the purpose of your stay?"

"With complete honesty: to enjoy the sights and sounds of human culture in one of the greatest cities in the galaxy."

"Are you carrying any bone charms or other supernatural paraphernalia with you?"

"With emphatic and undeniable truthfulness: no."

"Sir, may I see your translator?"

"Highly affronted: do you question my integrity, ma'am? Tinkering with translators is a coward's trick. Annoyed: if you could only smell how outraged my pheromones are at the mere suggestion…"

And on it went. By the time the three of them stood before a customs officer, their clothes clung to them from the muggy heat. Nevertheless, they put on their best forced (but not too forced) smiles on for the customs agent, who watched them approach with cold and indifferent eyes.

Leng handed off all three passports and travel documents with what was probably feigned anxiety, but one could never be sure with him. The woman scanned each passport photo with a piercing glance before checking the documents.

"Wedding and honeymoon, here? Congratulations." The tone remained far too formal for Leng and Miranda to do anything more than mutter thank yous. "Anything specific planned?"

"Specific? Not really." Leng shifted in place. "We wanted to try a bit of everything…"

"Only thing we've agreed on so far is the changing of the palace guard," jumped in Miranda, making Jack internally sigh with relief. "We were hoping we'd get a picture of the Royal Protector."

The customs officer nodded but said nothing, her eyes darting down the length of another document. She glanced to Jack.

"Not staying long, are you?"

"It's not _my_ honeymoon," said Jack, injecting grumpiness into his tone. "I have a job to get back to."

"Ah, yes. It says you manage a … contracting firm?" The slight raise of an eyebrow. Jack coughed.

"Colony construction, mostly expanding Shanxi these days," replied Jack. "Er, not pre-fabs, you understand. We lay the actual groundwork for cities once the initial surge of agriculture and whaling has taken off." _Yes, good. Sound like you're advertising without meaning it._ "We do good work, I assure you. We make streets that rival Dunwall's in all respects but age." The customs officer's eyes took on a glazed quality.

"I see, very good. Well, I hope you all enjoy your stay in Dunwall." The lady inclined her head and offered a far more genuine smile this time. "And may yours be a long and fruitful marriage."

"Thank you!" Miranda motioned for Jack to follow, and the three of them marched through the checkpoint, steps becoming lighter with each passing second.

"A little of everything, eh?" Jack kept his voice low. "Were you working on that the whole trip over, or does such artful deception come naturally to you?"

"Fuck you, old man. I'm calling off this wedding."

Jack snorted at this before hailing down a hover hansom with a wave of his hand. A yellow vehicle descended almost immediately, crewed by a rather chipper salarian sporting a dapper bowler hat.

"Barcroft Court." Jack flipped the salarian a single gold coin, which he gaped at. "The rest is a tip. Stop for no one. We're in a hurry, please."

"Yes, sir!" The salarian tipped his hat and waggled the patches of scale above his eyes. The three of them filed in together, Jack taking the front seat.

"Off to visit the toffs, sir?" The salarian gave a cheeky grin without turning to look at Jack. The hansom rose unsteadily into the air while the meter on the dashboard flashed red numbers. "Don't often get around those parts myself."

"We are visiting some … toffs, yes." Jack kept his tone neutral. "Not really much for them, myself. But they're the ones with the money in their contracts." Jack thought he heard Leng stifle a snort.

"Ah, wish I could say I understood what you meant, mate." The salarian sniffed, a curiously human sound. "They don't tip well, I'll you, that. Most won't even let a salarian drive 'em."

 _Yeah, well if we weren't in a rush I'd be a bit choosier myself._ Jack let his omnitool flare, checked the time. _Less than I would like. Six fucking elcor. Six!_

Despite Jack's misgivings, however, the salarian proved as apt a driver as any trueborn Dunwall driver, navigating the high streets and their jutting towers with a strange kind of vindictive grace. Halfway through the drive, a sneaking suspicion grew in Jack's mind that the salarian was showing off. The suspicion was confirmed when the salarian executed the smoothest landing at a Barcroft Court street corner he had ever seen, a thin smile playing at his lips the entire time. With a snort, he gave Jack a meaningful look and a wink.

"No luggage? Well, saves me some trouble." He produced three calling cards from a hidden pocket, one at a time, flick flick flick. "Remember me. And tell your friends. I only got a decade to live, so I don't got my time to waste, neither!"

Jack took a card gingerly and examined it with a critical eye. The salarian, bowler still on head, smiled at the picture with a green thumb extended on either hand. Written in crude golden typeface above the picture gleamed the name "Begs," underscored by, "Ten years to live, will drive fast." Jack gave the salarian a nod, pocketing the card while Leng and Miranda still stared incredulously at theirs.

"I'll remember you," said Jack, meaning it. His people could make use of such a salarian.

"And I, you, sir!" said the salarian, tipping the bowler hat and rolling a golden coin between his fingertips. It vanished faster than the sun could gleam on it. "Do enjoy your stay in Dunwall."

The hover hansom disappeared from their lives as quick as it had entered it, joining the throng of fellow transports that hurtled their way from building to building and street to street. Jack watched it depart for a moment, mind still struggling to fully process what he had just witnessed before returning to the task at hand.

The Court appeared deserted.

"Rooftops. My lead." Leng and Miranda nodded. Jack directed his attention to the closest bust of some long-dead politician. His left fist clenched at his side. He appeared atop it with a whisper of wind. Without pausing, he directed his mind and attention to the rooftop now across from him, its black tiles shining dully in the smog-choked sunlight.

Jack's feet tapped neatly against new tiling. He waited for his companions to join him, their appearance heralded by ribbons of shadow dancing in the wind second before their transport.

Jack waved a single gloved hand before adjusting his glasses. _Be glad to be rid of these._ The Empire's flag danced gaily in the wind above many rooftops – they were bound for the one closest to the locked-off district. _West. Sun at our backs._ Their feet created a merry racket against first tile, then brick, then gray steel, but if anyone noticed or cared, they kept quiet about it. This deep into the city, Jack could now hear the loudspeakers far more clearly.

"This is a general warning: wire charms are not permitted within Dunwall or any of the Empire's territories. Violators will be prosecuted on the spot to the fullest extent of the law. Those complicit in the sale or transport of wire charms will likewise be administered the harshest penalty. This message carries the blessing of the empress."

"That one's new." Leng panted a little as he spoke, their feet still beating a _rat-tat-tat_ against worn tiles. "Was the outbreak really that bad?"

"We'll learn firsthand soon enough." Jack did not relish the prospect. "Remember, keep your flesh unexposed, and if you see one of those damned charms, keep your bloody distance."

"Prosecuted on the spot," Miranda muttered. "Sounds like something my father would have ordered, if the empress would have let him. I guess she is, now."

"Desperate times." Jack's lips twitched upward as he spied the flagpole he wanted. "Once more."

The three of them arrived together on the wind-blasted and forgotten roof, much of the city now spread all around them. Despite himself, Jack cast a long glance to their destination, the thrice-accursed Noble District, now cordoned off at both street and sky level. No hansoms flew between its oddly dark spires now, and even from this distance Jack could see sparks flying from the creeping blue wiring that spread from flesh to cobblestone with such unnatural ease.

Beyond that, however, waited Dunwall Tower, still standing proud and bright above the ruin that now clung to its underbelly. Even now, it still stirred something in the chest. Pride. Sadness, a little.

And anticipation.

Jack felt the side of the flagpole until he found the hidden catch. With a click, a large black bag spilled out, only hastily caught by the waiting Miranda. A single note drifted out after it, snatched out of the air by Jack.

 _Pulled all the stops, as requested, courtesy of yours truly. As always, you are missed terribly._

 _Trias the Red_

A large crimson lipstick stain still clung to the wrinkled piece of paper. Jack shredded it without hesitation, letting the remnants scatter as the wind willed.

"One of these days that asari is going to leave a bomb in there," Leng warned, pulling free the contents of the bag. "She's known for that, she is."

"I'd like to think an asari at her age would know better than to anger someone with the ability to stop time," said Miranda, pulling out her whaling slicks from the bag and giving them a very judgmental look. "They smell as if the moths have been at them. And they're _wrinkly._ "

"Moths won't eat that." _Well, unless they're from Pandyssia._ But Pandyssia was always the exception to everything. Jack took his own folded leathers from Leng and removed his glasses. The mask went on first, followed by the outfit itself, then the boots. Despite smelling off, despite jacking up the temperature a few degrees just by virtue of wearing them, and despite feeling tight all 'round, Jack felt liberated once inside. _Back to being myself. The real contract work._

Leng produced a small strip of metal. He adjusted something with his thumb, and a blade, razor-sharp and gleaming black, shot out from the end.

"Nice."

"Ten sleeper darts each." Miranda tapped her omnitool and picked up one of the small data chips left inside the bag. "Omnibow software installed. No viruses." She took the retractable blade from Leng's hand almost as an afterthought. "Thanks."

 _Would prefer to use my saber._ Still, Jack could not help but marvel at how feather-light the sword felt as it extended from the hilt, its edge looking keen enough to slice through a ship's hull. The omnibow software did not hold the same thrill.

It took only minutes for the other two to finish dressing and for the bag to be emptied of sundry poisons, weapons, and clothing. His two companions stood to either side of him now, faces obscured, looking down on the Noble District with something approaching apprehension.

"I confess, I'm not looking forward to tackling this part alone." Miranda, keeping her voice firm.

"We'll be in radio contact, should you feel the need for a little more … time." The mark on Jack's hand burned. "Leng? You ready?"

"I'm always ready." If Kai Leng felt any trepidation at what was to come next, he did not seem keen on showing it. "Although … I feel like Oleg gave me the sewer access on purpose. The man never did like me, despite my obvious charms."

"I am also using sewer access," replied Jack lightly.

"Yeah, but yours isn't still in use."

Jack hastily turned a laugh into a cough.

"Take it up with him when we get back."

"Right." Leng's gloved hands clenched and unclenched. "Shall we?"

The three of them vanished as one, but this time their destinations differed entirely. Miranda began her long trip across the rooftops that should, according to Oleg, take her through the sentries. Leng began his trip downwards into a world full of fresh shit. And Jack got the old tunnels, where a shrine conveniently enough waited for him.

The descent down did not take Jack as long as he thought it would. Perhaps it was just a miscalculation, or perhaps something else spurred his feet to burn as they did. _How often can I claim to have a relationship with my target already?_ As Jack's knees buckled at the longest jump yet, his right hand felt for the hilt of his blade while the left ran flat against the ground, steadying him. He gripped the metal tightly.

Jack's descent did not stop at street level. This close to the blockade around the District, the loudspeakers grew much louder, these ones carrying an even franker message than the ones before it.

"Attention Dunwall citizens: entry into the Noble District is forbidden. The Royal Marines and City Watch have orders to shoot violators on sight. Those who do evade the empress's judgment will be subject to an excruciating death. Looting these buildings is not worth it. Risking your life is not worth it. No one enters the Noble District."

And yet, people were still entering the Noble District. Not from street level or by hansom, to be sure, but there were paths for those who knew the city well, as their contacts did.

"No blockade can be completely airtight," Oleg had said, pointing to the spots on the map where the security was weakest. "We have good word on at least seven people using these routes in the last two weeks to successfully infiltrate the Noble District."

"And how many of them made it back out?" Miranda had asked.

"One."

Jack's feet crunched on gravel and cobblestone. Here stood the parts of the city that few feet still touched, the areas between old buildings and under old bridges. Places where occasionally one could find centuries old graffiti written during the times of the Rat Plague, or where sometimes what crunched underfoot was not stone but ancient bone.

A small grate, rusted several times over, marked where Jack needed to go next. His mark flaring, he grabbed the bars and pulled, letting the Void assist muscle and bone where it would. The bars came free with a muffled scream. Jack flung them aside and lay down, sliding on the dead leaves and into the dark.

Jack landed with legs bent. The ground felt bone dry, and he could detect no odors. The light strewn from above seemed weak and scant now that he was down here. His fingers swept before his eyes, letting the world change into a far more manageable series of purples and blues. The shrine was close by.

Jack strode forward, footsteps not making a sound, a hand always on his sword. Rats darted away at his passing, little flares of life in an otherwise still and empty place. The smell of waste grew pungent as the familiar hum of a rune grew louder.

The tunnel turned, and steel bars blocked his path. Beyond it, inexpertly maintained, sat a shrine, flowers and mushrooms set in jars around it. Jack smirked and placed his hands on the closest bar, bending it until he could fit through. He edged his way through the gap and then stood before the pedestal of neon lights and pathetic offerings. Without a moment's hesitation, he took the rune.

And froze. His vision grew dim, and the world around him grew even darker. A foul wind howled, the odor growing ever more pungent, and Jack fell to his knees.

He felt sick, sicker than anything, his stomach roiling with discomfort. It was … fear. Fear stronger than any he had ever felt, more than even when he was first faced with the Outsider. His head snapped up. On the impossible horizon, something _burned._ And it was growing closer.

With a sound like the whistle of an infernal tea kettle, Jack came to his senses. The shrine sat before him, dead-looking, the lights dimmed a little. _What was that?_ Jack had pillaged other shrines before, but the Outsider had never deigned to speak. He had just … retrieved the rune, and that was that. This was different.

"If you have something to say, just say it." The words bounced back at him, feeble and empty as the tunnels he crept through. "Gold light – how am I supposed to know what it means?"

Yet the Outsider did not answer. He didn't do that anymore. _Not that I care._ The rune grew cold in Jack's grip. He let it fall to the floor with a clatter before turning and leaving. He did not look back.

"I'm in the old tunnels. Rune secured." When Jack's words echoed back to him, they sounded different, somehow. Hoarser. He tried to ignore it. "Moving under the district."

"Leng here. Waist deep in shit." The man did not sound amused. "I want double for this one, damn it!"

"Lawson. About to breach the blockade. If you hear a bunch of alarms, then I failed." _You sound nervous, Miri. Don't be. Share the faith I have in you._ But of course, Jack did not voice this.

The tunnels bent and twisted, silent but for Jack's breathing and the surprised squeaking of rats. The path grew darker, noticeable only at how the rats seemed to glow ever more brightly in Jack's vision. If anyone was using this route to enter the Noble District, it wasn't today. Jack's breath steamed in front of him. This place had not felt the warmth of the sun in a very long time. _The turians would love it._

The path rose upwards, as Oleg had promised. The air began to smell of copper and oil.

"Below." Jack could not even be sure if the message reached the two of them. They did not reply. He felt a pang of anxiety at that. It did not help that the rats appeared to have fled. They knew better than he did.

Light shone faintly ahead. Another grate, old bars half-broken on some street corner. Jack could hear loudspeakers, muffled and indistinct. This is what it sounded like on the other side of the blockade.

Jack braced his arms as he clenched his fist. When he appeared in mid-air before the grate, he was ready. His hands scrabbled against the loose stone on the lip of the grate before finding purchase. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, belly dragging against gravel as he did so. He crawled into the weak light with hands and knees, hoping nothing had heard him.

The loudspeakers still echoed in these quiet streets, nothing carrying but the emphasis the announcer placed on his words. The light here had somehow become tinted blue, skewed by the strange energies. Outside these streets, sunlight bathed the city, even strained as it was through the smog. Here, its rays became twisted. Dark.

Wires and strange flesh-like tubing ran up the buildings like creeping vine. In many places they crept through windows using jagged holes of their own making before snaking back out again elsewhere. Drainpipes hummed with electricity. The hair on the back of Jack's neck rose from the inherent static electricity.

Jack made his way gingerly up the steps from where he stood to actual street level. In the distance, technically closer now yet feeling further than ever, stood Dunwall Tower. Before him, a quarter of a mile of wire-infected wilderness. And he was not alone.

Bodies lay strewn on the streets, some sprawled on the floor, covered in a blanket of eldritch circuitry, others curled up into a ball, hands against their face, both fused together by a thin sheet of blue metal. None of them moved. None of them breathed.

It would be a mistake to assume this meant they were strictly dead.

Jack edged his way further down the road, careful to plant each foot down as quietly and firmly as he could. Wires crackled underfoot as he stepped, an occasional red spark flying up to lick his boots. He thought he saw a hand stir beneath the mesh of living steel. But there was nothing.

Whispers licked the edges of Jack's thoughts. In a moment of utter lunacy he activated his Void vision only to immediately regret it. The ground below him glowed bright with life. As did the buildings. The figures. The lampposts. Everywhere the wires touched burst with searing energy. His fingers ran across his face again. The lights faded.

"Twelve," muttered Jack, not sure why. The city seemed to stir at his speech. "Twelve."'

A figure stood alone in the street, head staring upward at the darkened skies. The sound of grinding clockwork emanated from its chest, a gruesome facsimile of a working heart. Jack crouched low, blade flicking from the hilt. _Steady, now._

Killing well came with practice. Asari were similar to humans, with a heart in roughly the same location, the same kind of lungs. Turians were a different beast entirely, armored about the chest, but still weak to sucking chest wounds. A single lung puncture would nearly always prove fatal, since they only had the one. Salarians – didn't matter. Their blood pumped so fast that the shock delivered by a wound made by a human would nearly always kill, provided it came hard and fast. Trick was hitting them to begin with.

"Let the clock … strike twelve." An electronic groan, repeated over and over. "Why does it wait? Our call is not heard…"

Wire-fiends … the heart was the key. The gears that drove the entire abomination into unnatural life were its most vital organ. Jack had heard tales of such creatures being eventually hacked to non-functional pieces, but that was not something one man could do alone. Jack readied his left hand.

The trick was not to shove the blade into someone's back. That took work. Dragging them into a sharp blade on the other hand…

Jack's hand clamped over the creature's mouth as he jerked it backward into his waiting right hand. The beast uttered a muffled electronic howl as Jack brought it into his blade, the point shoving clean through the back and up through the ribcage. Jack drove the point forward, hearing glass break and metal tear. His blade, now running with violent blue liquid, pointed through the other side of the fiend. The scream died like a radio running out of battery. The creature fell limp, and Jack pulled his sword free with a hidden grimace. He left the dead where it lay. Nothing else stirred.

Jack continued on, blade in hand, its edge dripping with fluid. The target loomed ahead. A tower, taller than the rest, with a perfect view of Dunwall Tower.

Three more fiends sat together in a circle around a hansom covered in thick red wiring. Their heads jerked to and fro, as if to some hidden music. Jack passed them by, breath catching in his throat at every inadvertent sound.

"Twelve. Twelve."

The door to the entrance was riddled with gaping holes, the greedy tubes and wires having punctured it in half a dozen places. Stepping up the staircase, Jack could hear the sounds of ticking within. He pushed open the left side door gingerly, as far as it would go before the wires stopped it. Bodies decorated the floor of the lobby beyond. At its center, a single clock ticked away the time, held up by a pedestal of mortified flesh and repurposed bone.

Jack stared at the grisly altar for a few moments, trying to figure out just what the hell was the rhyme or reason behind the plague. But truthfully, it was none of his concern. All that mattered was making it to the stairwell. _And there's a horde of angry bodies between me and them._

The first step was the hardest. The second was the hardest, too. Each footstep came with a sound like the crunching of dead leaves. Jack's breathing came ragged and harsh.

 _There._ The staircase, its door rent open by countless wires. Jack clenched his left fist. Released it. Stood triumphant at the foot of the stairwell.

The clock shrieked in sudden anger, its shrill cry echoing through Jack's ears. With a chorus of moans which swiftly graduated to synthetic roars, the room came to what could almost be called life.

Jack did not bother to question what had just happened but instead tore up the stairs, blood pumping. His legs did not notice how they burned after the third flight, nor did Jack feel the pain in his knee when he tripped and caught himself with his hands on the landing, leg bashing against hard concrete. Below came the thump thump thump of countless angry feet. The wires below hissed and coiled like snakes.

On and on the flights went. Doors burst in, wood splintering as other fiends reached through for Jack as he sprinted past them, blade in hand. One reached too far and screamed as Jack sent its hand flying with a flick of his blade.

The shuffling footsteps grew louder. Jack clenched his fist and let time stop. He turned to look at his pursuers, lost count at eighteen. The closest of them looked fit to lunge, and close enough to have some result. Jack looked up, tried to envision himself two flights above. With a deep breath, he released his grip, almost immediately tripping as his feet landing unevenly on the stairs. The screaming from below only grew louder, as if his act had somehow enraged them.

"Twelve! Twelve!"

"Outsider! Outsider!"

Now, that was new. But Jack had no time to ponder its meaning. Seventeen floors remained. The pain in his knee began to flare. Still, up he went.

The beasts did now slow, but Jack could not claim the same. His lungs burned, his legs ached, his knee flared with horrid pain. His blinks could only carry him so far, so fast, and already he was using more energy on them then he would have liked. He limped his way up the steps, silently muttering the same word over and over.

 _Twelve … damn it all!_

A final blink. Only four stories remained. Jack almost collapsed as he landed, his knee giving way in protest. He caught himself with both hands, blade clanking against the cold ground. He looked up … and felt his heart catch in its chest.

A wall of light. Inexplicable. Inescapable. Blocking his only exit. It stretched from one end of the stairwell to the other. It sparked and hissed with deadly promise. A single reinforced whale oil canister sat in an indentation to its left, clean wires running to the wall itself. The pounding of feet grew closer.

Jack swore, summoned strength from deep within himself. Shadows formed from the edges of his vision, culminating in a shape not so dissimilar from himself, standing on the other side of the wall.

"The oil!" His shadow nodded, prying the canister free from its mooring. The canister came loose with a hiss, followed by two quick low notes as the wall powered down. Jack slipped past, seizing the tank and pushing it back inside. The shadow watched passively as the wall shuddered back into life. It faded from sight as soon as the barrier fully reactivated.

"Hey, did we just lose the wall?" Voices from above. Jack, already flushed with exhaustion, swore under his breath. "Young, go check it out."

"Aye aye." _Royal Marines._ They had stationed Royal Marines at the top of the tower. Jack glanced upwards, looking for anything that could be used as a perch. People so rarely looked up, after all.

 _There._ A beam, not even a foot across, stretching close from one window to the wall. Feeling a pinch as he did so, Jack readied himself for one last blink. With a gasp, he stood unsteadily atop the beam, looking down on the staircase as a shadow loomed larger on it.

A marine, dressed head to toe in crimson, stepping merrily. She stopped halfway to the wall of light, hand on her hilt. The fiends had stopped screaming. They watched her hungrily from behind the barrier.

"Haven't learned your lesson, yet?" The marine pulled a pistol from her holster and aimed it square. The report rang in Jack's ears far too loud. A fiend lurched backward, a hole leaking turquoise sprouting from its brow. The marine fired again. The fiends screamed, beginning to slowly back away.

"That's right, back to where you came from!" Three more shots. The fiends fell back down the stairs, hissing and moaning, the wounded leaving patches of blue where they had been struck. The marine grunted in satisfaction before sliding her pistol back where it belonged. For a few moments she inspected the whale canister before shrugging. She departed back up the steps smartly, apparently satisfied.

"Wall's back up. Not sure what happened. Locals are restless." Jack did not hear the rest of the conversation. His leg wobbled where he stood. It took all his effort to remain steady.

After two minutes, it was clear the marine was not coming back. He let himself fall, catching himself with another closed fist. He stood unevenly on the stairs, letting his hand rest on the railing. Slowly, he worked to finish his journey. A trapdoor, and the marines beyond it, were all that stood between him and the completion of the contract.

"Miranda. Leng." Jack paused to wheeze for a moment. "I am in position … except there are marines in my tower."

"Yep, same here."

"That you, boss? You must be the last up. Yep, they've got sentries here, too."

"Great." Jack paused to think. "Either of you got a good view of the Tower?"

"Negative."

"Nope. Sorry boss."

"All right." Jack leaned against the wall, thinking. "Radios are disrupted inside the barricade, correct?"

"They work inside, but the signal won't make it out." Miranda, eager to please. "Works in reverse, too. Outside signals won't be able to get in, either." _Wire interference._ "I think they've got a green light set up. I saw them flashing it at the palace."

"These sentries have to check in regularly, but can only do so with each other." Jack rubbed his neck. "As for the light, we can keep on flashing it. Eh … we're going to have to take the sentries all out at once. And I do mean at once."

"Right." Miranda sounded uncertain. "Just say the word."

"Ready, boss. Lethal or non-lethal?"

"Non-lethal, you fool." Jack ground his teeth. "They are servants of the Empire, same as us. Why on earth would we kill them?"

"One way to make sure they don't get in our way." Jack could just imagine Leng folding his arms. "Non-lethal it is. Darts prepped."

Jack's hand felt sore. The mark burned. Below, he could still hear faint howling.

"Ready." Jack clenched his hand harder. His nerves felt as if they could catch fire. "One, two, three … go."

Time stopped, the air becoming gray and still. Jack heaved his shoulder through the trapdoor, the wood outright splintering at the onslaught. Four marines, two on scoped rifles watching the Tower, two with monoculars. Jack gritted his teeth and aimed his bow.

 _Pum, pum, pum, pum._ The omnibow flashed four times, the darts flying free, each bound for a different neck. Jack looked to his left. Two similar towers lay in the distance, where motion could be seen. The only motion. Jack felt time creeping back up on him.

"What the-" The marines reared to life, just in time for the darts to find their throats. With a flash of green, each buried itself in flesh, and the marines reeled momentarily at the impact. One opened her mouth to shout, only to gurgle instead. They slumped together in unison, weapons falling with a clatter.

"Clear." Jack breathed.

"Clear."

"Clear."

Jack stared over the lip of the tower's edge. They had a direct line of sight on Dunwall Tower from here. The empty rooftops below even provided a direct route. _They were right to set up here. A sniper could do some damage._

"Pretty sure they airdropped these guys in." Miranda, probably trying to show off. "Hopefully they weren't planning on doing a pickup or rotation anytime soon."

"They were in for the long haul. A pity Balak's sources couldn't have warned us about this." Jack nudged a sandbag with his toe. It stank of urine. Discarded packets of salted beef sat neatly on the western edge of the tower. "You two okay? No trouble with the fiends?"

"Negative."

"No, boss. Killed three on the quiet, but didn't manage to stir anything up."

 _Must have had the hardest route._

"Or I'm getting old." He hadn't meant to say it aloud. He looked down at the unconscious marines. "Still, good enough. I'm still alive."

"Eyes on the Tower. I can see a turian." Jack looked up, but could see nothing distinct. He pried a monocular from the stiff hands of one marine and brought it to his eye. An unmasked overseer and a turian in military clothing walked side by side. _I think that's our man._

"Taking a listen." Jack let his consciousness reach out to give the gentlest of markings. For a moment, the twin inputs of what he could see and hear versus what Desolas could see and hear made war with each other, sending a shiver of pain through Jack. Then he shut his real eyes, let himself immerse in his target.

"…brother will make peace with his prejudices, as I hope your people with theirs." An unfamiliar mouth moved to make these sounds. Jack could never get used to looking through alien eyes. The blues and greens of the palace grounds were so much more vibrant, everything else more dull. "It is a great honor, Anderson. Especially for a species so recently introduced to the galactic scene."

 _Anderson?_ He could see the unmasked overseer more clearly now. Yes, it was Anderson, far more wrinkled and worn than he remembered, but still possessed of a burning stare and strong arms. For a moment, Jack felt that thrill of recognition, of recollection … and then remembered just who he stood next to. Who he was politely conversating with.

"The boy has promise, and he is ready to represent our species." Jack noticed the scar across David's lip, twisting as he spoke to the turian. His voice sounded deeper than Jack remembered. "As for prejudices, well, he does not fondly remember what happened to his home the day we took him. Nor do I. But you are seeing to that, are you not?"

"It is well overdue." Desolas turned, stared over the pavilion and out into the sea. "The Ecclesiarch does not approve of what I have agreed to, but the Primarch concurred with me: these wounds have not been sufficiently bound. I want to see both of our races excel, Anderson. I have made my expectation clear to Saren. Shepard will have no trouble from him during his examinations. I have seen to it."

 _Shepard._ The name stirred a memory. _The day Shanxi burned. The Shepard boy. I suppose he made it._ The rest did not make much sense, however. But it was not what Jack was looking for. He was looking for the signal.

"Another turian," Leng called out. Desolas was already turning to greet him.

"Saren! This is your prospective student's current mentor. Captain David Anderson, of the warfare overseers. One of our most fervent allies against the batarians." The second turian strode up the steps with a gleam in his eye. He gave David's outstretched hand a critical glance before shaking it with what was clearly unease. "How are you feeling?"

"Must there be so much ocean?" Saren spoke with a higher and clearer voice than Desolas's, yet was no less intimidating for it. Yet, when he looked to Desolas, it was with obvious warmth. Unlike Desolas, he wore a full set of combat armor, emblazoned with both the Citadel's and the Ecclesiarchy's chained sun. _An Inquisitor. Great._ He alone among the three wore a blade. Jack's heart thudded dully in his chest.

"The second turian is an Inquisitor. That's a problem." Jack spoke slowly, trying to separate the sensation of his own body from Desolas's. "We can't kill him. That will invite reprisal we will not survive."

"And killing the general won't?" Miranda, laughing dryly. "Waiting on the signal. Is that Samuel Murphy down on the pavilion?"

"No. It's An – an old acquaintance." Jack frowned. "We can't kill him either. Only one man dies today." _If you can call him a man._

"Copy. We'll take care of the other two."

"Is the boy ready?" asked Saren roughly, staring down Anderson.

"He survived Whitecliff. He excelled at Elysium." David nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Saren without blinking. "He's gone above and beyond what is expected, and I would know. I was there the day we brought him in. No one is more unswerving in his faith and duty. You can trust him to serve the Citadel to the utmost."

"Good. Because when I look out there, Anderson, to that blackened district? I do not see promise."

David's face darkened at Saren's words. In the corner of Desolas's vision, Jack could see the guards down the staircase being motioned off. _Now, how did Balak pull that off? Soon a cannon will fire, signifying the start of the event … whatever it was supposed to be._

"Enough, Saren. It's about to start. I pray the words do not choke in my mouth; such things do not come easily to turians. Or generals. Especially old ones." Desolas sounded tired, but resolute. He clasped Saren's hand. "Do not fault the humans too harshly for their own early troubles. They have not gone the way of the volus or krogan just yet, nor do I see clockwork soldiers marching down their streets with reckless abandon, so they are not quarians either. Try to find what you can admire in them, as I have. Can any claim the same strength of faith as the Abbey of the Everyman?"

"No," said Saren, making Jack bite his lip. "They are stalwart as any Palvanus."

A muffled boom in the distance. It was time.

"Leng, take the Inquisitor. Not dead, mind you, just wounded enough. Miranda, incapacitate the overseer. Watch their shields." Jack let his mind snap back to his own body. He pulled his sword free, let the stained blade flick out. "The general is mine."

Jack vaulted over the edge of the tower. He free-fell only a few feet before rematerializing at the next rooftop. He could see two other figures adjacent, running. His own feet pounded concrete, then tile, then brick. The Tower grew closer.

Shouts went up. The other two had made it first. Jack jumped for the final time, mark burning. He stood in the pavilion, the sun at his back.

Anderson lay bleeding on the ground, struggling to rise as Miranda struck him across the face again with the hilt of her sword. Saren Arterius and Leng clashed in a flurry of blades, both snarling. Desolas, meanwhile, shouted for help, wondering where the hell the guards went. Then he saw Jack.

"Ah. I see." The general folded his arms. Jack approached slowly, purposefully, and he wasn't even sure why. Time seemed to slow.

"No!" Saren, yelling. Leng yelped as a vicious cut got him across the chest, and he vanished from sight, leaving only smoke. Saren aimed a kick at Miranda, who rolled neatly out of the way only to gasp as Saren immediately produced a pistol from his other hand and fired it, striking her somewhere in the chest. She too, vanished, leaving smoke and a small puddle of blood.

Jack growled, backhanding Desolas across the face before rounding on Saren … who now held a dizzy Anderson at swordpoint, his blade held across his neck. Jack paused.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" But his voice wavered. Saren did not let his gaze leave Jack's face.

"I know exactly who you are, and where you came from. Touch him, and the Empire goes up in flames. And I'll be happy to send it on its way." He tightened his grip on David, who winced. "Do you remember what it was like, to have honor? Do you still care for the Abbey you once pretended to serve?"

"Jack." David grunted, trying to stay still but get words out nonetheless. "Just leave. You can't do this."

"Can't?" Jack grinned under his mask, mark burning. "Or shouldn't?"

The shadow formed behind Saren even as the shout went up. The echo of a blade materialized in its hand it drove it in, through the stomach, treatable but agonizing.

Saren screamed the high scream of those a long time dying. He released his grip, and David fell forward with a shout. Jack rounded on Desolas, who stood with blood dripping from his face.

"I had a message-"

"Fuck your message. Here's mine." Jack strode forward, blade at the ready. Desolas did not flinch, only stood there, eyes softening with fear of the inevitable.

"Remember Shanxi."

Jack drove the blade deep, angling it beneath the turian's thick ribcage and through the lung. Desolas's breath went out in a shrill whistle, and he heard Saren scream in dismay. Harsh clawed hands scrabbled at Jack's back, finding purchase at the base of his neck. With surprising gentleness, Desolas pulled Jack's head back, bringing their faces together.

"I'm … sorry."

The grin on Jack's face vanished. The blood pooled thick and fast on to his gloves. Desolas's grip began to weaken.

"What?"

But Desolas only shuddered, trying to draw in air. Jack pulled the blade free, and Desolas fell back, teetering for a moment at the edge. With a final ragged gasp, he fell backwards, his body tumbling below into an endless sea.

As Jack turned away from his kill, head reeling, his eyes skidded across the sun above, leaving a livid smear of gold across his vision.


	6. Rampant Hunger

_Flecks of gold light lashed at Jack's ankles. All around him he could feel a crinkling, burning sensation, like sunburnt skin folded in on itself. Closing his eyes did little. Everywhere he turned, an accursed sun blasted heat into him, into his mind._

 _A cruel wind blew through it all, dry and whistling. Jack's clothes billowed as he took every hesitant step forward, feet planted firmly in the hard ground beneath him. Behind it all, distant yet ominous like bellowing thunder, Jack could hear the muttering of words, interrupted by harsh barks of laughter. One voice he remembered all too well. The one who marked him. The other…_

" _You would be the first in so long … but think of what is to be gained."_

 _The golden light pulsed crimson. Jack took a long and shuddering breath. The world waited for an answer._

* * *

Soft light beamed in from the lofty window. It took a moment for Jack to realize where he was, and why he should not be afraid. He lifted himself up above his pillow, smelling the familiar sterility of the apartment, so forcibly detached from the detritus outside. Gradually, beat by beat, his heart slowed back to how it should be.

 _Three weeks._ He had counted the days. Three weeks of nights filled with gold. Three weeks of uneasy sleep and the muttering, sometimes pleading voice of the Outsider. The creature never had words for him. Just howling wind and an uncaged sun.

Three weeks since the general died. The galaxy did not look the same as it did.

Jack's thoughts slid around for a while, unfixed on any particular point. A clock chiming twelve. A turian plummeting into the sea. His hand, outstretched, burning with the accursed markings. He shut his eyes, but they still skidded around under the lids. His head pounded. He needed water.

"Outie – update on the situation." Jack rose from the bed, sheets scattering in his wake. The clockwork automaton whirred as it followed his motions with its oculus, clicking as Jack departed his bed for the sink.

"Curfew has been declared for all humans on the Citadel. Human and turian businesses throughout Citadel space are being targeted for both peaceful and non-peaceful demonstrations."

 _Curfew?_ Jack cupped his hands and ran the tap. The water felt lukewarm in his palms and left an unpleasantly chalky aftertaste in his mouth.

"The Ecclesiarch has again stated his intention to avenge the great turian general, Desolas, regardless of whether Saren Arterius is released for baring steel on David Anderson. High Overseer Boyle has again called for peace between the Ecclesiarchy and the Abbey. He appears to have gone ignored."

"I'm not sure who I hate more, Outie," said Jack, staring out the window and into the smog-strewn horizon. "The turians hell-bent on exterminating us, or the "brothers" determined to apologize for them."

Outie had no response. Jack's words fell well outside any preprogrammed parameters.

"Well." Jack drew more water, rubbed it over his face, feeling his thoughts solidify into something almost coherent. "At least it's one less turian, now."

* * *

Standing inside the Hound's headquarters, it was hard to see what had changed. People still milled about in the dusty proving grounds, testing their steel against one another. People faded and reappeared at loftier vantage points, watching for movements in the radioactive wastes. Hounds barked laughter behind thick masks. They saluted at Jack's approach. The rabble remained content in their mission and purpose.

Those adorned in crimson were another affair, once the curtains were drawn and the table was set. The Citadel hung in gleaming turquoise above the table, each ward's name listed above the hologram's arm. As Jack closed the curtain, he stared at his three companions, the first. _Well, sans Banes._ But Banes was yet to return.

"Your wounds?" Kai Leng and Miranda looked up at Jack, their expressions almost sullen. Miranda still looked paler than Jack was used to, and Kai Leng walked with a limp when he thought no one was looking.

"Never thought I would taste an Inquisitor's blade." Miranda shrugged carelessly, but Jack noted the slight wince. "Didn't hurt as much I thought it would. It just aches. I'm … fine."

"Bring me another Inquisitor, this one was lacking." Leng grinned like an Overseer's hound, but his eyes remained drawn. His careless wave looked stiff and unconvincing. Jack glanced to Oleg. Despite remaining untouched, his hair and skin never looked grayer.

"This is bad, Jack." Oleg cut to the quick. Jack glanced at the other two, who averted their eyes.

"The money came through," said Jack staring Oleg down. "Shanxi was avenged."

"We killed a general," said Oleg simply. "That seems a small victory in the face of all this … let's see." Oleg clenched his fist, and began raising fingers as he made his list."

"The general's brother – his Inquisitor brother – has been imprisoned by the Empress's order." One. "We've got batarians on one side, urging the Empire to secede, and turians on the other, arming themselves and preparing to raze Dunwall itself." Two, three. "The Empire is split down the middle between Citadel loyalists and nationalists who would tie themselves to the batarians, and the regiments have been dispatched to seven colonies." Four. "And now there's a curfew for all humans dwelling in citizen space. Just the cherry on top." Five.

"They won't attack the Empire," said Miranda, but she didn't quite meet Oleg's gaze. "They can't."

"They want to," replied Oleg. "And who is to say what the birds are capable of? Regardless of the outcome, can you imagine the number of the dead?" Oleg spat on the ground. "They will be measuring the slaughter in Shanxis by the end of it."

"You lost your nerve, old man?" Oleg rounded on Leng just in time to see him smirk. "We've killed one general already. If it comes to that, we can just get our hands dirty."

"So you think we can just assassinate our way to victory?" Oleg snorted. "Yes, we happy thirty-odd, against the might of the Turian Ecclesiarchy who train their people, from birth, to recognize the Outsider, to hate him, and how best to fight him. I see the way you walk, Leng." Oleg took a step towards Leng, jabbing a finger at him like a lance. "The sloped shoulders. The labored breathing. Are you so keen to fight against more people like Saren, whose blades are etched with ancient mathematics?"

"Oleg's right." Miranda and Leng's heads snapped to Jack, startled. He took a deep breath, his chest shuddering slightly. "If there's a war, it's not one we can fight. And … things are getting worse. I've had only silence from Azerah. If we fought for the Empire, I imagine they'll thank us for it by siccing the Abbey on us." _We … I can still fix this. And it was worth it. Had to be worth it._ He remembered how the Shanxi abbey shook as the cannons struck home…

Oleg pressed his palms against the table, staring at the blue outline of the Citadel that hovered above it. He stared at Jack through the hologram, heavy eyebrows furrowed.

"Well. At least you admit to that wrong." Jack's fists balled.

"Desolas deserved it," he snapped. "It was just the time and place that was wrong. We … really didn't need an Inquisitor there." _Especially not_ that _one._

"Deserved it," repeated Oleg dully. "Certainly. Shanxi was a disgrace. But who gave the order?"

"To launch the shuttles and drop pods?" Jack scowled. "Desolas. The order to march? The Ecclesiarch. But we can't touch him."

"Ah. So degrees of guilt are determined by expedience. By whom we can punish." Oleg pushed away from the table. "Jack … we've made the galaxy a dangerous place for humanity. And for us in particular. Do you intend to do anything about it?"

Jack stared at the Citadel. _Curfew … I can't believe that. There's not even a proper day and night cycle._ His fingers twitched. _His last words. An apology. Why?_

"This is my mess to fix." Oleg nodded at this. "Oleg – have you made any headway into where the batarians got that intel?"

"No." Oleg shut his eyes briefly. "But … a certain C-Sec officer made contact with me when he heard I was asking about Ecclesiarchy security leaks."

"Which one?"

"The one who keeps asking for your mark, Jack." Oleg rolled his eyes. "The one who fancies himself as "Fade.""

Jack nodded to himself. _Old Harkin. Self-interested as they come. But smart enough not to get my attention unless he knows he has something worthwhile._ Jack's mark itched. He stared at Miranda and Leng, at their slightly hunched postures.

"I will be handling this one myself." He pointed to Leng. "Bed rest. Drink your tonic. I'll need you fighting fit soon enough." He pointed to Miranda. "Same. Drink plenty of water." He glanced to Oleg, raised a finger.

"I … need to visit the Citadel, actually." Oleg did not meet Jack's gaze, instead fixing his sights on the Presidium. "Personal matter."

 _Personal matter?_ Jack wracked his brains for what, if anything, Oleg could possibly consider personal. His life was the Hounds, and before that, the Abbey. No family, aside from them. No friends. There was only strategy and the very occasional blade work.

"You finally found someone who likes that little brand of yours, old man?" asked Leng. "Or do you just wear a bag on your head during?" Oleg did not even blink. He just waited for Jack, who made a swift cutting gesture at Leng, palm flat.

"Fine," said Jack. "I hope you resolve this matter in a satisfactory fashion."

 _By which of course, I mean that I will tail you until I find out what you're hiding from me, choffer._

* * *

Jack could not recall the last time he had brought Oleg along anywhere. The man almost seemed like a fixture of the headquarters instead of an inhabitant. He arranged the purchase of supplies, the procurement of maps and building schematics, and kept up with their contact for other jobs. Oleg lived and breathed strategy, the life Jack had fought hard to provide for him. Seeing him sit beside him on a crowded shuttle, dressed in a thick coat, makeup applied thickly to his face, felt surreal.

Oleg seemed to feel it too. He spoke little, to Jack or anyone. He pulled his coat to himself over and over again, as if fighting off a chill. And his eyes wandered, mostly to other humans, occasionally to turians. Yet his face gave barely a flicker.

 _Something's wrong._ But it was so hard to say what. Jack could spot the telltale signs of Miranda or Leng experiencing distress from a mile off; their strops were both frequent and apparent. But Oleg … Oleg was the one who would calm them down if Jack was not there.

 _Well. It's not as if he does not have good reason. He warned me against this. All of it._ Jack yawned and stretched. The afterimage of brilliant gold light rebounded into his skull as he blinked. Oleg watched him, but said nothing. The shuttle began its descent.

* * *

Jack adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose. The two of them stood on Zakera Ward, all gaudy neon and grinding clockwork. Turian C-Sec officers watched them with barely concealed contempt from the security checkpoint behind them. Oleg stood side by side with Jack, a small suitcase in his left hand. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"Don't get caught past the curfew, all right?" Oleg hesitated and then extended a gloved hand to Jack, which Jack shook. "And thank you, for letting me do this."

"I wish you luck with … whatever this is." Jack gave Oleg a small smile. Oleg looked deep into his eyes and through the glass, into the bright blue. His lips did not so much as twitch.

"Thank you. For everything." _How oddly … final?_ With a squeak of his boot, he turned on his heel and marched off, back burning with a rune only Jack could see. _One more thing to keep track of._

If it were any other Hound, even Jacob Taylor, Jack would have no difficulty knowing where they were on the Citadel. But Oleg, unmarked and unbound, required a different approach, one that could be considered outright invasive. _I'd feel bad if you weren't blatantly up to something._

But Jack had his own suitcase, and a shuttle to catch. He dusted off the sleeves of his suit and set off, watching the Citadel move around him.

Keepers turned ancient cranks in silence, sending the gears spinning. Always, the cranes and pulleys of the Citadel remained in motion, hauling a turian warship here, a dripping whale carcass there, the occasional bound and glowing shipment of eezo. Between the cracks, the place glowed with the deep purple of the nebula beyond the great walls, glimpsed only occasional through the odd tourist-riddled viewport.

Once in a very long while, a massive grinding sound would tear through the air, like clockwork trying to grind through thick wire caught in its gears. He would shudder and look for the disturbance, but could not find the origin. No one else seemed to notice. _There's a reason I hate visiting this place._

The structure remained the same, but the people had changed. C-Sec officers moved in patrols of five rather than two, their hands always near their scabbards. Ecclesiarchy marines now supplemented existing security forces at key checkpoints. They spoke little, but the repeaters held close to their chest said much.

Last time Jack had visited, aliens mixed freely with each other. Now they moved in clumps, sullen salarians here, gabby asari there, a lone elcor striding through the crowd. Humans were not much in evidence, something Jack did not notice until he stepped on the tram. A sea of alien faces stared back. One of them, an asari, tapped a watch, looking apologetic. Jack nodded back. _Don't forget._ As the tram ride went on, his face began to redden. None of the turians would look away.

Flux lay like a beating heart at the center of the Zakera Ward markets, the pulse of its music felt through Jack's feet long before the club came into view. He didn't need to follow the purple neon arrows. Just the rhythm and the faint distortions in the air.

Deep in the distance, some impossibly huge machine came to a grinding halt. This time, Jack just clenched his teeth and moved onward, not wanting to draw attention to himself so close to his informant. As he stepped up the ramp, a krogan bodyguard clad in brilliant pink armor nodded at him. Jack nodded back.

"The clock will strike twelve," rumbled the krogan confidently. The hair stood up on Jack's neck.

"Sorry, what was that?" Jack leaned around the corner of the doorway. The krogan leered at him through bright red eyes.

"I said it's almost twelve, humie. Don't think C-Sec won't find you in there. Move your ass."

"Right. Sorry." Jack turned to face the teeming masses of people. The air practically distorted with the bass of the music, some incomprehensible salarian piece. Most of the dancers were asari, naturally, showing off the dance of their people, which was to say, all dances. A handful of humans stepped nimbly with them, their own undershirts and trousers looking distinctly dull next to the asari's.

And there, amongst the rabble, a lone volus danced inexplicably, waving his stubby arms in the air. A small crowd of asari gathered around him in a circle and clapped.

"A rare day! You came while the owner is in!"

Jack almost didn't realize someone had yelled at him at first. He turned, only to have a shoulder unexpectedly clap him on the back. A tall balding man wearing a C-Sec cap grinned at him, showing yellowing teeth. Jack stared at him pointedly, and slowly slid his hand from his shoulder. The grin did not fade.

"I got us a table!" Harkin gestured to a … well, anywhere else it would have been a quiet corner. Here it was merely a booth positioned somewhere slightly less deafening. "It was pricy! I expect to be reimbursed!" His watery eyes glanced at the suitcase. Jack resisted the urge to snigger. The two of them stepped through the crowds to their … quiet corner.

"This loud enough?" Harkin no longer had to bellow, but Jack was still getting more out of reading his lips than anything. Jack nodded.

"Good." Harkin glanced at Jack's suitcase again, his wormlike lips twitching as he contained his grin. "Didn't think I would get the man himself. You hear about the curfew?"

"Yes." Jack made sure to nod to make sure Harkin understood him.

"Right." Harkin leaned in, eyebrows wiggling in a pathetic farce of a conspiratorial manner. "I've got my badge to make them look the other way. And you've got … yours. You just don't wear it on your chest."

Jack stared at him for a long time. Moments like this made him want to take off the glasses and give people a good idea of just who he was. Harkin seemed to understand, though. He coughed awkwardly and looked away.

"To business, then." Harkin spent a few seconds looking away from Jack, brow furrowed. The grin came back as his eyes met Jack's. "Your boy Oleg told me to keep an eye on things … and I have. What's your standing policy on, uh, wire charms?"

 _The clock …_ Jack gritted his teeth. The screams of the creatures back at Dunwall rang through his ears. The fruit of wire charms.

"The trade of them is unwise. Their use, unthinkable." Jack kept his face still as he said this. "I don't kill many people for free. Wire charm smugglers are sometimes worthy of an exception."

"Only sometimes?" Jack nodded. Harkin's fingers drummed on the table to the beat of the music. After a moment, he leaned in. "Well, there's been a massive intake on, uh, wire charm imports here. C-Sec has been busting people left and right." Jack's heart beat a little faster.

"And no outbreaks?"

"None. And it's got the Executor worried." Harkin grinned again, but this time no mirth reached his eyes. "Y'see, it's organized and widespread. People who are caught don't grab the charm and go for a last stand like they normally do. They just fight the regular way or run. Nor are people sneaking them in to populated areas and planting 'em. We've been catching them hidden in hotel rooms, in the service tunnels, aboard Defense Fleet ships…"

Jack tilted his head. _The Defense Fleet is compromised?_

"Yeah," said Harkin, as if he heard Jack's silent question. "It's systematic. Someone's planning something. And worse, the uptick started about three weeks ago." Harkin leaned in. Jack could smell garlic on his breath.

"Do you believe in coincidences, Jack?"

"Batarians could never smuggle wire charms here. And humans would lack the network."

"Most humans, yes. But with a little outside help, anything's possible." Harkin shrugged and glanced at the suitcase again. "Ah – I can give you a name. He's an intermediary at best, but we all have to start small, don't we?" He glanced at the suitcase again.

"It'll be sent electronically, Harkin." Jack smirked at Harkin's reaction. "The suitcase only has … tools. Trying to take several thousand credits through customs leads to awkward questions." _As a C-Sec officer you think he would know that._ But then, no one ever said Harkin was a particularly good cop.

"Right." Harkin licked his lips. The stench of garlic grew a little stronger. "They call him Fist. Runs Chora's Den, if you've ever been. He's running wire charms out of that establishment, not sure how. Or why. But he's just a middleman, like I said. I uh, I don't actually think he's thrilled about what he's doing."

"But he does it anyway." Jack rolled his eyes and stood. "Why haven't you gone to your superiors, if you knew this?"

"Because they would ask me just who my sources were, and those bastards would murder me in prison." Harkin shifted in place, his guard uniform suddenly looking too big for him. "And they'd chop off the head of the flower, but fail to dig up the roots, if you know what I mean."

Harkin stood, looking pleased at the metaphor, extendeding a bare and sweaty hand. Jack shook it firmly, happy to be wearing gloves.

"If you do want C-Sec in on this … hang on." Harkin released his grip and tapped his omnitool. Jack waited patiently.

"Here." Jack's tool pinged. A number and a picture of a turian came up. "Officer Garrus Vakarian. Trying to bludgeon through red tape to nail Fist on separate charges. If you want this done properly, he would be a good choice." Harkin glanced at the suitcase one last time. "Of course, you do got your … tools."

Jack glanced at the suitcase, then back at the number. He shrugged.

"You'll get your payment," repeated Jack, and left Harkin where he stood. The krogan bouncer grunted as Jack passed him.

"Twelve," he reminded Jack. He knew better than to ask what he meant.

* * *

 _Almost twelve_. Jack looked away from his watch and back to the task at hand. Were it not for the wretched curfew, he would just nonchalantly walk into Chora's Den and start probing the place for weaknesses. Instead, he would have to take an alternate route, which required a good deal more effort.

Jack could feel Oleg meandering about the hotel room in the back of his mind. He'd checked on him twice in the last hour, focusing himself and looking through his old friend's eyes. Petrovsky spent a lot of time looking at the mirror, tracing the faded brand across his face with a trembling fingertip. Watching it made Jack feel unclean – but at least he knew he had time to finish the task at hand before Oleg made his move. Whatever it was. He looked down at the target location from his vantage point, a keeper tunnel thirty feet above.

Chora's Den pulsed with a lower beat than Flux, and the people who walked in and out invariably wore thick coats and anxious expressions. _I suspect idiots go in there to make deals._ Common knowledge would say such places were rife with criminal dealings, clandestine agreements made at smoky tables. All Jack could wonder, looking at the establishment, was how many of the people stumbling in and out of the place were undercover C-Sec. Flux, out in the open and loud, loud, _loud_ , was a far better choice for making deals.

Jack could see only one entrance to the Den, which flashed continually with reds, blues, and purples from inside the club. A salarian and a turian flanked either side of the establishment, hands on their sword-hilts. The salarian hissed a hurried warning to a human who staggered out. _Yeah. You're almost out of time, friend._

Jack passed his left hand over his eyes and felt them spasm in pain. Chora's Den writhed in electric activity, thick crowds of aliens pressed together and moving quickly. Wires crisscrossed through the walls and ceiling, leading to cameras and sound systems. In the back, away from the motion, pairs of armed guards stood beside the back doors. The wires ran all the way back and into the office. _And it looks like the manager is in. That could be exciting._

Jack bit his lip and stared across the void between himself and the keeper tunnel he would need to access. Nothing stood between it and the floor below. It was either take a flying leap or pray that the guards would not take offense to a strange armed man appearing and disappearing in what was clearly Outsider magic. Theoretically he could stop time and the guards would not see him … but _things_ tended to happen when he stopped time on the Citadel. And there were good odds on an Inquisitor noticing. _More reasons I hate visiting this place._ The sound of distant grinding gears arrived as if on cue. Jack sucked in a deep breath. His knees bent. He sprang.

The Void whispered in Jack's ears as it propelled him up, far beyond what any unaugmented human would be capable of. The ground shrunk beneath him and he chuckled at the weightlessness he felt as the leap met its apex. Then came the tug of gravity. Jack clenched his left fist.

Time halted. Almost immediately the air became thick with orange residue, as if the Citadel were some Pandyssian Flyrap, and Jack a hapless insect about to be snared. The sound of ringing bells filled Jack's ears, and the sensation of being watched by a vast crowd of incurious eyes came over him. Jack reached out for the lip of the keeper tunnel and released.

"Hngh." A flare of pain stabbed Jack's chest. He clutched it with a gloved hand, wincing all the while. For a moment, his heart beat out of control, but a few deep breaths calmed it down.

 _That's new. And unwelcome._ Jack looked back at the patch of air from which he came. For some reason, it made him feel uncomfortable to look at, even though nothing remained of … whatever it was. He flexed his left hand, trying to remind himself of the scores of men he killed, of what that made him. _And who knows. The list may grow before the night ends._ The music pulsed beneath his feet. Jack heaved a sigh and turned on the vision once again, following the wires where they led.

The keeper tunnels ran all over the Citadel, and not in any way that made sense to Jack or anyone else who frequented them. They often came to inexplicable dead ends or sudden drops that inevitably seemed to lead into either open space or sizzling protein vats. Some of them just ran on and on, spiraling ever downwards without any apparent end. Jack had heard a salarian team had even sent crews into the guts of the station, centuries ago, and reported that, by their measurements, the tunnel had easily surpassed the supposed length of the entire Citadel and just kept going. Some iterations of the story claimed the team had reported being followed the whole way. Every version ended with the team ceasing contact, never to be seen again.

Jack hoped this was just a story. He preferred to use the tunnels sparingly, regardless. There were underground ruins on mainland Pandyssia better explored than some of the keeper tunnels. At least the ones close to inhabited areas had lights.

Chora's Den screamed and writhed beneath him. The cold wires led onwards, past the floods of people and into the back spaces where Fist did his paperwork. Here, Jack could see how crimes could be committed in secrecy. _Still, anyone who walked back in here to chat with the boss would do so in full view of probably a dozen undercover guardsmen._

A small hole ran off from the tunnel Jack stood in, covered only by a small fan. _Vent._ Beneath him, a glowing figure sat at a culmination of wires and moved his fingers back and forth. _Fist. At a computer._ Jack grimaced, knowing what he had to do. _Keep it quick._ He reached with his left hand and pulled time to a halt.

His vision filled with a sickly orange. The fan blades stopped in place, letting Jack sneak his gloved fingers into the mesh beneath. He felt his mark flare as he tugged, letting the Void's strength surge through him. With a pop, grind, and snap, the mesh and fan came loose, disconnecting with a spark. Jack barely heard it over the sound of bells. He relinquished his grip of time with a gasp.

As time snapped back into place, Jack looked down. Fist glanced up at the ceiling, fingers stopped mid-dance. For a long moment, Jack held his breath.

Fist lifted his arms and yawned. Jack could even hear it from below, faintly. Jack ended the vision and crept forward through the fresh gap in the vent, trying to keep his shuffling as quiet as humanly possible.

The vent terminated quickly in a sudden drop, leaving Jack to go to his belly and peer faintly through the gaps. Fist sat at his chair, a blaring computer casting his features in blue. As Jack watched Fist, the man raised a gilded sleeve and wiped his brow. His eyes featured bags and his right leg juddered out an unsteady rhythm on the floor. _Guilty conscience? Or worried about getting caught?_ It was always the middlemen with the nerves.

Jack activated his vision again. Fist's quarters lay beyond, to the right of where the man sat. Only a few wires ran in there, and none to what could be a computer. _So I need that one._ There were a few ways to go about this.

The first that came to mind was the Leng way. It involved a great deal of threatening, hitting, and a rather bloody finish. The Leng way had its uses. Middlemen rarely had much stomach for being threatened with disembowelment for their boss's crimes. It would be quick, certainly. But it would mean needing hasty escape from the Citadel.

There was also the Oleg way. That way was slower. It meant finding more people like Harkin, gradually building a fine snare of blackmail and thinly veiled threats of being violated by Void magics. The Oleg way was typically expensive, although thanks to the batarians, that was not much of a concern. But time … time they did not have much of, given that Jack was crouching in a vent trying to avoid a fucking human-only curfew, of all things.

Then there was the Jack way. It required a bit of thought and luck. And magic. Just a bit of magic.

Jack checked the wires again, hoping he could find the generator. Unsurprisingly, the thickest wire ran under the club portion of Chora's Den, which gave Jack a headache just to look at. It seemed they had stored it in part of a keeper tunnel. The whale oil glistened from within.

Jack sighed and left a burning rune on Fist's head, feeling the back of his mind pinch again, this time harder. Running two at once – especially over such a distance – tended to leave a migraine if left for too long. But the Jack way demanded no less. He shuffled backwards, as carefully as he could. Then he followed the tunnels down, hanging a right, then a left.

If walking above a large number of dancing aliens was loud, walking below their thundering footsteps was a maddening cacophony. Jack looked up once just to check they weren't all elcor and krogan. _Nope. Mostly asari._ It did not dull the throbbing in his head. The generator ran ceaselessly beneath them.

Jack opened the panel with a hiss, revealing a half-empty canister of glowing trans. With a final glance upwards, he pulled the tank from its receptacle.

Immediately he heard screams as the lights went out above, but at least the thundering ceased. Hoarse voices shouted out over the crowd as the krogan bouncers tried to restore calm. Jack waited for a handful of moments, feeling oddly pleased with himself. Then he shoved the canister back inside and closed it. It would need manual restarting of course, but he did not intend to do that himself. He strolled calmly away from the generator while the ruckus died down, and someone moved to the hatch that would take them down into the keeper tunnels.

Once he'd put a bit of distance between himself and his crime, Jack closed his eyes. Fist's tattooed arms waved in his vision as he screamed obscenities at a blank-faced turian cast in red emergency lighting, who only shook her head when he asked what was going on.

"Is it C-Sec? It's that fucking turian again, isn't it? The cheeky one with the visor. I swear to the Outsider I'll calibrate his-"

"This isn't C-Sec's style, sir." The turian maintained an impressive bearing, Jack had to admit. He thought he saw some of Fist's spittle land on her armor. "Dulg went down to check the generator. It should-"

With a clunk, the lights came back on. It felt oddly surreal to see the pulsing colors in action without anyone screaming or flailing their arms beneath them. From behind the turian, countless alien eyes gazed stonily at Fist.

"I want a report!" Fist shook his, well, fist in the turian's face. "This cannot happen again! Understand? It's bad for business, and it's bad for … well, _business_ , do you get me?"

"I understand, sir." The turian turned on her heel and strode off. Fist stood in place for a few moments, wiping his brow. Jack could not feel it, but he could imagine the heat pouring off him.

"Void damn it all." Fist gave an angry wave of his arm at the salarians still staring at him from the club and stormed back into the comparative dark of his back areas. The krogan bouncers at either side of his door stiffened as he approached.

"No more interruptions. I intend to go to bed shortly." The krogans grunted. One scratched the glowing orange runes snaking up his muscled left arm. Jack had always wondered just how the Mark of the Eaten felt on them. Apparently, it itched just like his own mark did.

Fist pushed the door into his room with a weary sigh, slamming it behind him. As he sat down at his desk, he gave his computer a light kick before starting it, his fingers drumming impatiently against the wood of his deck.

"Work, damn it." The screen came alive. Jack sucked in a breath and narrowed his inner eyes. _Moment of truth, here._

Fist paused as the screen demanded a password, the account name already filled in. His fingers moved quickly, but this was hardly the first time Jack had done this. _And passwords are hardly the most arduous things to memorize._ Memories of a cold cottage on Whitecliff flashed in his memory. _No. Not who I am any longer. Who I ever was, really._

"UtterBedlamVoid97," muttered Jack, solidifying it in his memory. "UtterBedlamVoid97." He could not help but be slightly impressed. He was expecting "1234" or perhaps "Password" if Fist considered himself a wit. There was at least some variance in capitalization and the inclusion of some numerals.

Jack waited inside Fist's vision with a growing headache. Fist kicked his computer again as he waited for the desktop to load up. To Jack's growing gratification, he immediately moved to open his email. Jack readied himself for another password … but the fool had left the autofill options in. A sea of what Jack hoped was compromising information stared back at Jack, who released his grip on Fist's vision with a smile. He returned to his vantage point in the vent in no hurry at all.

Fist took longer to go to bed than Jack had expected. Jack occupied his vision a few more times before giving up. Whatever the man was up to, it seemed his primary concern at present was loss of overhead due to the human curfew. Then, just to top things off, he started looking up rather … lurid images on the extranet. That made Jack feel uncomfortable in too many ways to express. So he waited, patiently, letting the time tick on by.

Eventually, Fist stretched his legs out, this time kicking his computer on accident. He swore loudly, standing from his chair and powering off the computer by holding down the button. Jack's opinion of the man lowered accordingly. Then he shuffled into his quarters with a yawn, looking red-eyed and disheveled. The door closed behind him. Jack waited a little longer. For all he knew, the man had left something in his office to return for.

Nothing. Jack checked his vision and Fist was, well, in his bed at least. He'd have to get closer to check if he was sleeping. Jack reached for the vent cover and wrenched it free with a snap before dumping it behind him in the tunnel. He clenched his left fist and released it, finally standing before the computer.

Jack booted it up, switching his vision on and off to keep an eye on the guards outside. No movement.

"UtterBedlamVoid97," said Jack, typing it in neatly. The desktop booted up. He knew just where to go … but emails were not the first thing that appeared on the extranet browser. Jack's lip curled in disgust as he searched the history. The emails booted up without a problem.

"The Jack way," muttered Jack. Quite a few things could have not gone in his favor, there. No guarantee any of what he did would work. But the chance to get in and out without anyone being any the wiser … well, it was worth trying for, at the very least. _And I was the right man for this. None of the Hounds could have done that. Not that some of them would want to, even if they were capable…_

Most of the emails were mundane, if somewhat foul. Fist kept an unsavory relationship with some of his "dancers," and he appeared to be running a protection racket. Remembering a certain C-Sec officer, Jack kept track of those emails. But this one…

"Dantius." Jack knew that name. That was a name that got passed around in contracts a lot, usually with a steadily increasing bounty. Nassana Dantius was one paranoid bitch, which given her wealth, was understandable. Plenty of Illium CEOs employed massive security outfits. Using said outfits and the occasional mercenary group to bump off competition, the families of competition, or people who one day might be competition however…

"Warehouse B97, Kithoi Ward." Jack knew that location. He himself had once been smuggled through there, during a particularly, um, _spirited_ bout of Inquisitor activity. It was the only time in recorded memory Justicars had been let on the Citadel, and Jack was having _none_ of that. _This would have been a good place to start looking._ Jack wrinkled his brow. _Well, "start." The place is massive._ The email had lists of specific shipments. There was little else there, however. Not even a friendly hello. Or a massive tirade to keep his operation secret.

Jack checked for other emails from the asari. The first went several months back as the two apparently established a clandestine partnership. The first shipment however? Three weeks back, to a certain day of shame.

"Dantius." This made little sense. An asari was moving wire charms through a human contact in the Citadel, starting coincidentally on the same day Jack murdered a turian general. Of course, plenty of other things had happened that day in the galaxy. Or at least, Jack assumed that was the case. It wasn't like he had checked. But … one did not simply decide to ship crates full of wire charms into the most densely populated space station in the galaxy. Especially someone like Dantius, who stood to lose more than a great deal should she be discovered. _And what to gain, exactly?_

Jack's fingers tapped against the wood, only to stop when he realized his fingers rested against the same place Fist's had. It could all be a coincidence, certainly. It was at the very least, a stretch. But he _had_ been meaning to pay the bitch a visit for a while now…

That just left Fist. And his operation.

Jack ticked the Dantius emails, then hesitated. The wire charm op _needed_ to be busted, but Illium technically sat outside the Citadel and things would get … messy, there. Justicars would almost certainly get involved, and Dantius had answers he needed and a bounty he wanted. Jack unticked the emails and instead selected everything else that was incriminating instead. He pulled up Officer Vakarian's information. Then he typed in a quick message.

 _Wire charm leaks are in Warehouse B97, Kithoi Ward. Be careful. Don't rush in all at once._

Jack could not be sure how long it would be before the guards would bust in the doors and arrest Fist, nor how long it would take them to find the Dantius emails. He suspected he would have to take a direct flight to Illium and just ask his best Hounds to meet him there. _Miranda, definitely. Banes, if he's back. Leng … perhaps._

He sent the messages, all of them. As he turned to close the page, he felt a sharp shock as Vakarian returned one.

"Rarely are criminals this considerate," read Jack under his breath. "Thank you! See you soon 3"

It was a mild case, but a turian with a sense of humor fell outside Jack's ken. He deleted the email and hoped the smartass would not send anything else. After shutting down the computer, Jack looked back to the vent. With a whisper, he found himself in the vent. He fixed the vent cover back in place as best he could. It at least held there, if slightly lopsided.

 _Well, another lead, and a criminal operation dismantled. Hopefully._ Jack felt for the hilt of his blade. _Not a drop of blood spilled. Hopefully._ Truth be told, Jack normally preferred to handle things a bit more personally and thoroughly. _But there isn't time, and wire charms should get C-Sec's blood up._ He'd leave it to the law, this time. Dantius on the other hand…

Jack faded back into the shadows. Chora's Den droned on in blissful ignorance, its owner sleeping fitfully, completely unaware that his life had just ended.

 **Target Neutralized: Fist**

* * *

The asari receptionist smiled in warm understanding as Jack staggered in to the hotel lobby, trying to look as drunk as possible.

"What room, sir?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"The one with Shamuel Petrovshky in it!" Jack replied with inappropriate loudness. "Y'know, it's … it's on the third?"

"Let me get that." The asari, face flushing slightly, turned to her computer. "You're Jake? Jake Carter?"

"Yeah!" Jack put a hand to his mouth. "Sorry. I know … I know. I have to shh. I got an ID!" Jack handed it over, making sure to shake his hand a little.

"You have to shh," agreed the asari, drawing a keycard from somewhere beneath the desk. "Take the elevator and … please don't vomit, okay? We'll just forget all of this. Third floor, like you said."

"Don't forget me!" said Jack indignantly, but offered a wide smile. The asari's returned smile did not look genuine. Jack shambled off, grumbling about overpriced hanar cuisine and stupid curfew laws. The last part was at least genuine.

The elevator ride did not last long. Jack stumbled to the door and unlocked it, knowing Oleg was both inside and awake. _Does he know I know?_ Jack paused. _Am … am I actually drunk?_ Jack opened the door.

"You're alive." Oleg did not sound surprised, but there was some genuine relief in there that made Jack stand up a little straighter and give a genuine smile. "I was wondering; it was getting late."

"Alive and victorious." Jack removed his glasses and flung them aside, wiping his eyes. He snapped the door shut behind him. "Wire charms are being snuck through the Citadel by a night club owner named Fist, soon to be arrested. Nassana Dantius was arranging it. We'll be paying her a visit next. C-Sec's been alerted."

"Dantius?" Oleg tilted his head. "But … why?"

"Choff if I know." Jack kicked his boots off and flung himself down on the bed. The white ceiling stared back at him. He unbuckled his belt and let it slide off the edge. "We need to get to her before C-Sec moves in and the Republics sic the justicars on her."

"You should clean your blade, Jack," said Oleg. "I know you're tired, but-"

"I didn't kill anyone." Jack shut his eyes. "The blade is clean."

Jack did not hear any response for a good while.

"Well … that's good. Fewer messes to clean up." Jack heard the shuffling of feet.

"You taken care of that thing yet?" Jack asked, eyes still shut.

"Tomorrow." Jack heard the flutter of garment, likely Oleg removing his shirt. "Again, thank you. What's your next move?"

"Get ahold of the Hounds. Meet a few of them at Illium." Jack rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Collect on that bounty. I know we were considering it. If you've got any data on the towers…?"

"I'll dig up what I have." The blankets shifted. "And … thank you. Again. When do you plan on leaving."

"Tomorrow. Hounds always find their way home. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Oleg paused again. Jack thought he heard a sharp intake of breath, as if Oleg were about so say something, but instead the light from the other side of his eyelids abruptly disappeared.

"Good night, Jack."

Jack waited, but there was nothing else. In the distance, a massive gear ground to the halt with a rending scream, yet only Jack stirred at its passing.

* * *

"Tonight." The Void, howling with an eldritch wind, lamppost studded rocks hanging in an impossible chasm. "Now." Gold caught on the otherwise invisible breeze, leaving blazing afterimages on Jack's retinas. The Outsider stared at him from atop a ruined gazebo, his legs crossed and his eyes cold.

"It's been a long time," said Jack, stepping forward, but no sooner had his foot met the ground, it split with a thunderous crack. The Outsider drifted away on his own chunk of rock, stopping about ten feet away from Jack, whose toes hung under the edge. He met the Outsider's gaze dead on.

"Long for you, perhaps. To me, it was only moments ago when you were still … interesting. Fraught with possibility." The Outsider offered an annoyed shrug. "Now you have become a nuisance. You will never be able to understand the scale of your incompetence. Of how much you ruined."

"I told you that sooner or later I would kill someone important." Jack smirked. The air grew colder.

"Does that amuse you? To hack away someone's future and cast them screaming into the Void and feel righteous about it?" The Outsider cocked his head. "You are reveling in your own destruction. This will be the last time we speak. But first – gaze upon what you have wrought, and understand there is no undoing what has been done." The Outsider lowered his head, casting his black eyes into shadow.

"There is no stopping what is coming."

Jack opened his mouth to retort but instead began to scream as the gold closed in, running into his eyes, his mouth, down his throat-

* * *

"The Empress can't show weakness," said Bletchley, cards cupped firmly in his hands. "That choffer has to rot until she can release 'im and make it look like mercy, not cavin' into the Council."

Privately, Sam agreed, but it was more than her job's worth to speak up. Frankly, even Bletchley shouldn't be saying shit like that, but he'd had Coldridge management by the balls ever since the railing snapped and he'd tripped down the stairs. He still walked with a limp … when the captain was looking.

"It's still a fucking stupid idea," retorted Sergeant Ming, cigar held stiffly to the side of his mouth. "I mean, one, it looks like we just hate turians which, to be honest, I do, personally … but the Empire can't run on that, the Citadel would gut us! Two: He's a bleedin' Inquisitor? Have you seen his eyes? Any day now 'e'll break out of there and kill the lot of us one by one."

Privately, Sam disagreed, but she knew better than to argue with the sergeant. To her, it seemed like all the fight had been sucked out of the poor turian by the time they brought him in, like the death of his brother had broken him. He didn't speak to any of the guards. He barely ate. He spent most of his time sleeping … and talking in his sleep. _Well. More like screaming. Praying. Occasionally begging. "Please, just bring my brother back…"_

"Hackworth? Eh, Hackworth!" Sam shook herself from her thoughts, glancing to Bletchley. "Stay?"

"Nah." Sam flung her cards down. "Fold."

"Not your day, huh?" The sergeant chuckled. "Ah well. I'm sure even losing at this shit beats staring down that psycho."

"He's been very polite, actually," replied Sam, feeling an odd urge to defend him. "I uh, I sort of feel bad for him, really. He calls out for his brother in his sleep."

The two men glanced at each other. The sergeant shrugged.

"You don't bare steel on a servant of the Empress in her own bloody palace and get to walk free," said Bletchley with all of the certainty of a man content in not knowing anything more in life than he'd already learned. "Shoulda tried fighting off that heretic, eh? Instead of trying to set up a hostage scenario."

Sam shrugged. Perhaps it was foolish, but she'd actually tried talking to the turian on some of the midnight shifts when no one was around. Just questions about his wellbeing, whether the food was good, any requests, that sort of thing. The only time she'd got any kind of reaction was when she told him she hoped he didn't blame himself for his brother's death. His head had snapped to her, and he opened his mouth … but still he said nothing. At any rate, he was much easier to handle than basically every other male prisoner in Coldridge.

One thing did frighten her, though. Despite being an alien, she could recognize the hard flatness of a killer's eyes. She saw them everywhere she went, as part of her job. _How many have the Council had him kill?_ It was one thing to hold unlucky members of the Bottle Street gang. It was another to catch the occasional hitman. It was something else entirely to hold a Council-licensed assassin and witch hunter.

"He'll rot until someone of importance says otherwise," said the sergeant, not sounding happy about it. "Or until someone sh-" He paused. Sam looked up, ears pricking. Something had banged open in the distance. Loudly. Then she heard a shout.

"Up! Up!" Alarms began to sound, filling the prison with an awful ringing. Prisoners in cell blocks shouted in fright or began to jeer from the upper levels. The three of them drew steel and waited for the intercom. If it was a prison break, surely someone would let them know.

"Prisoner 627 is loose," said a man's shaking voice over the intercom. Sam's heart froze. "Repeat: the turian is loose." The intercom shut off with a snap.

"Form up!" The two of them followed the sergeant, blades at the ready. He looked back as they reached the blast door where a horde of other guards gathered, an officer placing his cap firmly on his head while his omnitool fired up.

"Stay together; don't try to take him alone."

Sam nodded. Then she sniffed.

"Does anyone smell … smoke?"

The blast door banged, making them all jump. The officer looked up and frowned.

"He doesn't think he'll break through, does he?"

"Is that him already?" asked Bletchley, going white. He looked at Sam. "There were at least twenty people between him and that door!"

Sam grimaced and gripped her blade tightly. She wasn't imagining it. Smoke was billowing through the bottom of the door, a steady stream of black. _A fire? How?_

The door banged again, more lightly this time. The officer banged back, snarling.

"If he's trying to play silly buggers, I'll have him-"

With the sound of a kettle abruptly reaching a boil, the door exploded outwards in a shower of gold. Sam had just enough time to cover her face before being knocked backwards by a splinter of metal grazing her arm, leaving a searing mark. Guards shouted and screamed as they were blasted by the heat and debris. Sam's vision blurred as she sat up, sword flung uselessly from her grasp. Smoke poured through the open hole now, and the bisected officer grunted his last, his legs and lower torso caught under the door, exposed guts catching fire from the heat.

A figure strode through, left hand dripping with blue blood, a barbed turian blade clutched in his right. As Sam watched, the figure snarled and scratched his left hand viciously with his right, causing more blood to fall to the floor and sizzle.

An Outsider's mark blazed through the self-inflicted wound. His left hand glowed a brilliant gold. His eyes shone with it. Saren Arterius, servant of the Outsider, stepped forward with an expression of pure hate, for himself and everyone around him. The first guard he came across, still reeling, felt for his pistol.

"Stay back!"

Saren sliced once, his blade catching flame as it whipped out. The man screamed and fell to the floor, a smoking cleft in his torso, down through to his heart. Saren did not look back and did not slow.

"Volley! Give me a volley!" A line of guards, those who had stood farthest from the door, held the line between Sam and Saren, pistols already drawn. They aimed them square at Saren's chest. Saren lifted his left hand, the blue still dripping from it. The sun blazed from his open palm.

"Fire!" The guards shot in unison. The bullets, as if drawn by a magnet, flew into Saren's palm. He did not slow. For a moment the bullets hung there. Then Saren closed his palm, and they shotgunned out as if fired by a cannon.

Sam screamed as the guards fell backwards into moaning heaps, their shields triggering but the wind still utterly knocked out of them. Saren made a swiping motion with his hand. A wave of searing yellow swept over the prone bodies. The screaming became visceral, sickening to hear. The smell of cooked flesh and hair overcame the scent of heated metal. Sam coughed, a small surge of vomit clawing its way from her throat.

Thundering footsteps erupted from behind her, but Sam could not tear her eyes from the turian, could barely remember how to move. Shouts and screams followed the footsteps. More guards. Lambs to the slaughter.

Saren clenched his fist. Sam expected death to follow, but that was not what she got. Brilliant silhouetted wings sprouted from his back, both the same brilliant gold. Then Saren _rushed_ forward, leaving only an afterimage.

Sam could not follow the carnage properly. She turned her head. The blazing blade struck here and there, cutting through shield, metal, and flesh with unnerving ease. Limbs, heads, and sparks flew as Saren flitted back and forth like some nightmare bird born of Pandyssia. Shots went wild and careened into other guardsmen. Swords fell on empty air. Officers bellowed orders only to be set aflame by the next blow. Blood flowed down the ramp to where Sam sat, dazed and afraid.

It took only a minute. Saren, drenched head to toe in red, stood alone in a pile of charred limbs and torsos. A guard gurgled and crawled away from him towards the remnant of her detached left leg, only for Saren to absentmindedly drive his blade into her back, pinning her to the floor. She let out a surprisingly quiet whimper, and then fell silent.

Saren swept his golden eyes over the ruin he had made. Sam kept perfectly still, some small remnant of her mind telling her it would be best to remain very, very still. Saren's eyes met hers. She began to shake.

The turian stepped forward, the wings folding back into his back. He stared down at her, the gold fading somewhat. His mandibles twitched. He scratched the back of his left hand, making the blue flow freely again. For a long moment, she held his gaze.

Then he turned away, saying not a thing. Sam watched him leave, leaving sticky red bootprints where he trod. He paused at the next security door before readying a fist. Sam, barely able to breathe and overcome by the stench of billowing smoke, naked sorcery, and burning steel, coughed once and let her vision go black. The last thing she could hear was an enormous boom. Then fading screams.

* * *

Jack awoke, the heat still on his face. _Gold. Brilliant gold._

His mark burned fiercely, glowing even though he had called on no magic. He sat up from his bed, breathing heavily, facing the hotel mirror and staring at his own pale face. His heart did not slow. In the back of his mind he could feel Oleg, tossing and turning, still fast asleep.

But now, across the galaxy, he could sense something else. A livid hate. The first turian servant the Outsider had acquired in centuries.

Jack stared at the mirror and knew at long last what it meant to be marked for death.


	7. Downcast Eyes

"You look terrible." Oleg's brand twisted as his face became a mask of concern in the mirror. Jack shook his head and splashed more water in his face, the room dimming a little every time he blinked. "You always said the Citadel gave you a headache. Trouble sleeping?"

"Bad dreams." Jack did not turn around, but his eyes did flick to Oleg's in the mirror. The man looked a little slumped himself. _Should I tell him? It's been so long since I saw the Outsider._ Jack opened his mouth, but the words could not come out. _I did a bad thing. I know it. It's another to know that somewhere, across the galaxy, your due is hurtling towards you. A turian…_

"I don't think any of us ever sleep easy, Jack." Oleg stepped forward and clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder. He was always surprised at the firmness of the older man's grip. "You said you were leaving today. Try to get some sleep on the flight."

 _All my dreams are wreathed in gold._ Jack still nodded wearily and turned to Oleg, resting himself against the edge of the sink.

"Once Dantius is dealt with, I'll be heading home to regroup. I expect to see you there."

Oleg clapped his hands and spread them wide. "Nowhere else to be, Jack. I'll conclude my business here and begin planning our next move … once you let me know what that is."

 _Heads will roll._ Of that much Jack was certain. It was just a prickly question of whose, and when. _I was too hasty with Desolas. Much too hasty. The timing … I couldn't see all of the connections and implications. The man had to die, but…_

 _Not then. And especially not in front of his brother._

The mark on Jack's hand burned. Across the galaxy, a blazing star cut a bloody path through Dunwall. Void knew how long it would take or what route Saren would use, but Jack knew where the turian's journey ended. Jack took a long hard look in the mirror, the water running in rivulets down his craggy face. A guilty man stared back.

* * *

Oleg moved with a swiftness and surety of movement that Jack would not have expected. His somewhat botched duel against Jacob Taylor had revealed the cracks growing from age, and the man rarely if ever went on missions. It was one thing to get from Point A to Point B; the Overseers taught their people well when it came to accomplishing tasks. But it was magic that let a Hound skip straight to Point C, where the target was, and plant a dagger in their necks.

Still, Oleg moved through the crowds of aliens with an alacrity Jack would have expected from Leng, Banes, or Miranda. Despite bearing no arms, his hooded visage and strong arms still meant that people parted before him, and he had no problems gently shifting others aside as he made his way through the Presidium. Despite his face being twisted with the Heretic's Brand (only barely covered by a dusting of makeup), he passed by human and turian C-Sec officers without fear, head unbowed. _Contrast me. Slinking along up high, through the keeper tunnels._

Jack's padded boots made barely a whisper as he half-crouched through the shrouded tunnels, what little light there was dancing crazily with the shadows of clock gears. The keepers ignored Jack as they turned levers and cranks on the walls, their glittering eyes dull and incurious. Jack in turn only paid them mind when he rounded a corner and came face to face with one of the wretched things, making him jump. If he didn't feel uncomfortable using any of his powers on the Citadel, he would have let the Void enhance his gaze and be done with it … but the clock at the center of the Presidium saw all. A small chill ran down Jack's spine every time he saw it.

Oleg crossed one of the bridges below, pausing momentarily to glance at a hanar surrounded by turians, its tentacles gesticulating with an unusual wildness. Jack waited above, taking care not to even breathe too loudly, and trying not to fully comprehend just how much air lay between himself and the ground. Oleg moved on, shaking his head. Whatever the hanar was ranting about, the Hound was having none of it. Jack looked on for a few moments longer. The frozen clock loomed above the hanar, and Jack watched it with a curious unease. The mark on his hand tingled.

Oleg stopped in the center of the next bridge, his palms pressed flat against the edge. He looked down into the bright waters below. _If you're looking for fish, friend, you are going to be disappointed._ Jack settled against the edge of the keeper tunnel high above, readying himself for the push. He needed to know what Oleg was doing, even if it meant doing so in the most hostile part of the Citadel. The clock loomed ominously in its strained silence, its very presence oppressive. Oleg tapped his foot impatiently below.

Two more humans, a man and a woman, each clad in the outfits of tourists: a sharp gray suit for the man, a light brown dress for the lady. _Diplomats?_ Jack's fingers gripped the ledge of the keeper tunnel. _A betrayal?_ The knuckles whitened. _Please. Don't let this be what I think it is…_

The man raised a hand in greeting. Oleg turned, his posture turning from stiff to relaxed. The woman rushed forward, catching the Hound in an embrace. _What is this?_ Jack stared down at the three of them as Oleg and the man exchanged a warm handshake, the woman still touching Oleg's arm. _What … what is this?_

It had to be done. There was no room for supposition here. Jack clenched his left hand and reached out for Oleg, conscience twinging. _Sorry old friend._ Jack shut his eyes … and opened Oleg's.

"…still working for that outfit?" asked the man. Up close, his features looked familiar, like a de-aged Oleg who had gotten to eat better as a child. His eyes lacked that same sharpness, though, and the noses were of different length. "I mean, I don't want to know the details, but-"

"Still working for them. For now." Jack felt Oleg's face form a genuine smile. He turned to the woman, and she at least was a total stranger with short red hair brought up in a ponytail. "It's not important. I … I heard he got worse."

"There's been complications." Up close, Jack could see the bags under her eyes and the pallor of the woman's skin. _Someone else hasn't been sleeping._ "It's something wrong with his heart, something they didn't pick up. I had to force him to stop working; he kept insisting that he felt fine, he was taking his medications and the surgery had taken. But…"

"He's laid up in bed," explained the man as the lady bit her lip. "Slightest bit of activity gets his heart all excited. It's why he couldn't come. Frankly, I don't want to leave him too long."

"And the child?" Oleg asked, his eyes turning to the woman's torso. Jack's own heart sped up a bit when he saw the bump.

"Fine, we think. But I don't…" The woman paused for a moment, shutting her eyes. "…I don't want him growing up without a dad. If nothing else, please, I just want my child to know who his father was."

"What are the treatment options?" asked Oleg, looking to the two of them.

"There is something experimental. The Academy of Natural Philosophy cooked something up back at Dunwall." The man folded his arms. "But, ah … it's costly. Not guaranteed to work. And getting one of those philosophers out here, seeing as we can't move Jacob – that's just going to add to it." He looked away, shifted in place. "Eighty thousand. Conservative estimate."

"I can get that money." Oleg offered a palm. "I'm not going to let him die. I'll just need some time to … move that money to you." Oleg's face twisted. "A month, perhaps. Maybe two. Does he have that time?"

The two strangers looked at each other. The woman's lip wobbled.

"There's been a substantial payout in my work," Oleg continued, clenching his hand, which shook slightly. "I'll get it to you. I swear it, Michael. Rebekah. He's not going to die."

"I believe you," said the man, Michael apparently, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. "But forgive me if I don't plant all our hopes on a miracle. You've done more than enough for this family, especially given your obligations."

"Your letters got me through Whitecliff," said Oleg, and Jack felt a stab in his gut as he finally understood. "It's time to return the favor. I haven't always been able to be here for you and Jacob, Michael, but I'm here now. Okay?" He reached out and took both of their hands, squeezing them reassuringly. "I'll take care of everything."

The two of them stared at Oleg sadly. Rebekah mouthed the word "okay." High above, Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. _I shouldn't be seeing this._

"Will you come and see him?" asked Michael, releasing himself from Oleg's grip. Jack felt his old friend's face contort.

"I don't want to surprise him. And I have a schedule to keep." He let go of Rebekah's hand, letting it drop to her side. "Let him know I love him. Remind him of the Strictures. Tell him I'll see him soon."

The conversation dissolved into a too-long series of goodbyes, and Jack pulled away from it all, stomach feeling hollow. _So. He held on to his family…_

It was not unheard of for Overseers to exchange letters with the remnants of their old lives. Forbidden, yes, but common and frequently overlooked. Oleg, in all his stiffness and professionalism … Jack would never have guessed. He would certainly never have guessed the man would maintain those contacts during his years as a heretic.

Jack slumped against the wall and slid down, feeling dirty. _Trying to keep his family out of the line of fire. Trying to make sure they're safe._ How many other Hounds kept secrets from him like this? Did Miranda still send letters to the Duke of Shanxi? Somehow Jack could not imagine it. But any of the others? They were strangers compared to Oleg, a man Jack thought he knew. _He was right to want to keep this from me. He trusted me not to violate his privacy._

Jack's fingers rapped against his knee. His head pounded. There was only one way to make this right. His omnitool sparked into life on his wrist.

"Outie? Is the connection secure?"

"The connection is secure, sir." The VI's voice came in through loud and clear, despite the considerable distance between them. "What appears to be the matter?"

"Look up relations of Oleg Petrovsky. Dig through the old Abbey records. Find Jacob, Michael, and Rebekah Petrovsky. Names might have changed but I doubt it." Jack paused, thinking. _The batarians were generous. They always pay well when they want to take a life. And now, in the balance, they will save another._ Jack heaved a deep breath.

"One hundred thousand. Arrange it so it looks like an unexpected inheritance, or something. Whatever is most legal and least suspicious. Can you do this?"

"Cash transfer will be underway within the day, sir." Jack nodded, smiling a little to himself. "Do you wish to attach a message, sir?"

Jack closed his eyes, thinking. Something appropriate came to mind.

"You were always there for me. For love of family."

Oleg would get the message. Perhaps he might even forgive Jack for his trespass. If nothing else, sleep would come a little easier tonight.

* * *

The ring of the fasten seatbelts bell rose Jack from his slumber. He glanced blearily to his left and right, his head throbbing from the dreams. _Gold. Bright gold._ At least he no longer had to worry about what kind of message the Outsider was sending. It was loud and clear now. _He's coming for you. You're running out of time._

Jack glanced out the viewport to his left. Illium shone a luminescent emerald below, the entire planet encrusted with sparkling asari architecture. _No justicars, please. I have enough people after me already._ The ship began to shake as it entered the atmosphere, and Jack slid the viewport cover shut.

It had been a while since Jack last visited Illium. Truth be told, he preferred it that way. The place possessed a lawlessness about it that made him uneasy. Omega, at least, was upfront about the kind of villainy most of its denizens got up to, and precautions could be taken with little difficulty. With Illium, it was hard to tell which alleyway was the right one in his line of work. And that was without thinking about the risk of running into justicars, a very real problem in doing business within asari space.

Batarians didn't mind marked individuals wandering through their territory so long as they were given some warning. Salarians would overlook minor infractions to maintain the status quo. The Empire possessed a hell of a lot of people who resented the Abbey. The turians at least were consistent; turn up in their space, they would kill you stone dead.

The asari … well, ninety percent of them found Jack fascinating. The other ten percent wanted to see what the color of his blood looked like, and there were no other people in the galaxy better suited to spill it.

Absentmindedly, Jack felt for left breast, traced a finger down the cloth. Just one of several scars "gifted" to him by asari sword sisters. Two hundred years of swordplay practice and biotics, one had said, smirking as he bled out on the floor. _Never try to take an asari from the front. Or alone, if you can help it._ Which was why two Hounds waited for him down below.

The descent went by with only a little popping of the ears and whining of children. Jack sat quietly by himself, mouth dry, legs stiff, and head throbbing. _If we have time, might be worth finding a hanar eatery and actually … sitting down for a bit._ If nothing else, a bit of Illium vintage might steady his nerves for a little while, before they took on Dantius. The ship slowed, its docking mechanisms clanking as it hitched on to the central Nos Astra port. The asari to Jack's right stirred from her sleep, her own glasses falling askew.

"Ah, thank the Goddess I slept through that one." The asari smiled at Jack. "Did you sleep well?"

Jack shrugged. "I dreamt of gold."

"Gold? How curious!" The asari laughed lightly, and then touched his shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "I dreamt that I had to tell you something," she whispered, and Jack's hair began to stand on end. "Do you think that means anything?"

"Quiet." Jack adjusted his glasses, making sure they were planted firmly on the bridge of his nose. _Outsider speaking through asari now? What is this?_

The asari giggled. "You should go to the Temple of the Goddess on Tenth. You'll know it when you see it. Humans always love seeing the trees and the brickwork, the artistry … you should stay for the Festival of Petals!" The asari leaned back. "I don't know why, but I just think you should go. Are you staying long on Illium?"

"Not if I can help it." Jack shrunk back against the viewport. The fasten seatbelt bell rang again, and everyone began unbuckling themselves. "Did … did he tell you to do this?"

"No, no," said the asari, frowning. "I don't remember the details, but I'm very sure it was a woman."

* * *

Jack staggered through security with his heart humming. All around him asari in various hues chatted to one another, luggage dragging behind them or clutched in strong blue fingers. The customs officials were far less smiley than all the other asari, but they still gave Jack no trouble as he presented his credentials.

"No wire charms?" one asked wryly as she examined Jack's fake ID.

"Sorry, must have left them at home." Jack immediately regretted that rejoinder, but the asari only gave him an eyeroll.

"Cute, but everything seems to be in order." The asari slid the ID back to him, her security uniform glimmering with inlaid pearl and gold. Jack's eyes focused on the saber hilt at her hip. "Take extra care while on Illium. Not everyone will appreciate that cuteness. Next!"

Jack's heart did not stop pounding as he advanced past the luggage claim, eyes peeled for Miranda and whoever she had brought with her. _Leng, most likely. He never passes up on putting aliens to the sword._ Still, his wound had been troubling him, and there were others Jack was happy to fight alongside. Glancing around, he saw salarians waving cardboard signs with improbably long names written on them, a gaggle of sharply dressed volus being carefully watched over by a Palvanus, and a single massive one-eyed krogan wearing a tricorn hat whom everyone had given a wide berth. It took him a moment to find his people, clad in red whaling leathers.

"Good to see you two," said Jack, striding up. Miranda stared up at him with a half-smile, hair held back under her hood. The other-

"Banes," said Jack, slightly surprised. He nevertheless offered his free hand, which Banes shook firmly with a grin. "A pleasant surprise. Glad Aria couldn't keep you out of here, too."

"Wasn't happy to hear I'd be dealing with more asari, boss," said Banes, curly black hair flattened against his head from the humidity, "but Leng kept whining about his wound, and Miranda said you'd want a professional. Do I qualify?"

"You're about the only one of us who might be able to keep up with one of those devilesses in swordplay." Jack jerked his head towards the exit. "Well, one of the slow ones, anyway. Quite happy to have you along."

The three of them exited the port and into the blasted heat of Illium at high noon. Jack's breath felt cold against his lips, and he could feel the sweat forming underneath his clothing. _A shower will be welcome. And the heat is just another reason to stick to a night op._

"Rental. Right there." Miranda pointed to a sleek back sky-carriage stamped with some Illium company's logo. "Ours for the week."

"We won't be here that long." Jack slid into the passenger's seat while Banes took the back and Miranda grabbed the wheel. She flipped the hood of her whaler's outfit back and donned her own sunglasses. If Jack hadn't known any better, he would have said she looked like a real professional whaler, here on Illium for business. _Technically true, but still all wrong._

"Hotel?" asked Jack. Miranda flashed a thumbs up. "Good. I can feel my clothing sticking to me. I would like to make a detour, though."

"Where to?" asked Miranda, looking back as the sky-carriage jerked up and backwards into the air.

"Temple of Athame on Tenth," said Jack, hoping this would not prove to be a mistake. "I was told it's a thing of beauty."

"Outsider Shrine?" asked Banes from the back. Jack did not reply. This only made Banes chuckle. "Outsider Shrine."

* * *

Like most buildings in Illium, the temple's base lay far below where the traffic flew, deep under a line of smoke where the slums and industry lay. Unlike most buildings in Illium, it possessed only a single entrance as opposed to many.

"Street level access? Really?" Miranda completed her third circuit around the single glittering green spire of the Temple of the Goddess, glaring down at the structure. "We're going to have to go in low. Masks."

"Yeah." Jack pulled his whaling mask from out behind him and slotted it into place, immediately feeling his warm breath blow back against his face. He checked behind him. Banes, similarly masked, flashed a cheery thumbs up. The carriage angled downward, and the glittering green of Illium gave way to something a bit more dark and sickly.

The carriage landed amidst a small crowd of smaller, rustier vehicles from across the street. The streets teemed with life, but very little of it appeared to be asari. Oh, sure, asari in smart black uniforms could be seen on every street, barking instructions, but the bulk of the local population appeared to be a mix of salarian, turian, even elcor and quarian, all carrying huge basket on their backs or atop their heads.

"What do they call it here? Contracted servitude?" Jack sucked in a breath. The carriage engine died and they stepped out smartly. The air hung heavy with smoke, here. "I can think of another name for it."

"Boss, with all due respect, at least these slave drivers didn't bring scourges with them," said Banes, and Jack sighed. _Yes. Mustn't forget the crimes of our erstwhile allies, should we?_ Jack motioned for them to carry onward.

A cracked granite ramp took them down to true street level. Jack expected odd stares, but as it turned out they were hardly the only whalers in town. The mask and blades were much in evidence, and some even dipped their mask down and took nips from amber bottles. Drunken laughter spiraled into the night on every street corner a pub was open, and they even passed by a trio of humans singing something about a drunken whaler. Jack mouthed the lyrics under his mask as he went by.

The Temple of the Goddess loomed high overhead. To Jack's surprise, the entrance before the steps was heavily gated, and two asari carrying heavy repeating rifles watched their approach. Their armor stood out from the murk of the lower levels, featuring an iridescent green sheen and leaf pattern. As Jack grew closer, he realized that the vine patterning on the breastplate was, in fact, vines. The walls which they manned similarly featured a thick layer of moss and roots, and the smell of smoke and industry faded in favor of a slightly ill-maintained garden.

It could have been Jack's imagination, but the light grew a little brighter as he approached the gate.

"You!" One of the asari called out, leaving her repeater on her shoulder with one hand as she pointed to Jack with the other hand. "You are expected! But your friends are not."

"Expected?" asked Banes, but Jack just held up a hand.

"I have precious little reason to be here already, and I'm not going in without a guard."

"Men are not permitted to enter the Temple of the Goddess," called out the asari. She pointed to Miranda. "She may enter." She pointed to Banes. "He may not."

Jack coughed politely. "I know you're a monogendered folk, so perhaps it may have escaped you, but I am, in fact, a man."

"The Goddess is grudgingly making an exception." The asari's eyes were visible from beneath her helmet. Something flashed green in them. "Your woman may enter. Your man may not."

"Listen, I'm on a schedule-"

"Yes, _Jack_ , we are aware."

Jack's heart leapt in his throat. He could only scared, mouth agape under the mask, as the asari stared down at him with … distaste? Hunger? It was hard to tell.

"You're not going anywhere, _Jack_ , without first visiting here. The Goddess wishes to speak with you, an honor to be sure. Walk away, and I can guarantee a justicar will be on top of you within the hour."

"I see." Jack shut his eyes beneath the mask. He could hear Banes muttering something to himself on his left. Miranda, in contrast, remained stock still, a hand on the hilt of her saber. Jack shrugged. "Banes, wait with the carriage."

"You got it, boss."

Jack looked to Miranda. Her neck turned stiffly to him.

"I don't see much choice in this. Do you?"

She shook her head. Jack turned back to the gate.

"All right. If this is a trap, I'm taking as many of you with me as I can."

"As you will." The guard whistled, a high and piercing note that made Jack's ears ring. The vine-adorned gate of the temple creaked open with a rustle of leaves. The smell of mold and growth grew stronger as they took their steps forward up the steps, leaving Banes behind. The gate creaked shut again behind them. "Up the steps, to the door."

Leaves crunched underfoot. Up close, it became clear that some of the iridescent green of the temple was in fact, plant life. Bright orange and pink flowers dotted either side of the staircase, growing in thick clumps, while trees with dense canopies and heavy vines flanked them at regular intervals. Jack's nose twitched. His eyes ran up and down the plant life.

"These aren't asari plants." He pointed, and Miranda followed his finger. A clump of purple flowers grew amidst a sea of foliage. "I've seen those. Back home. In Whitecliff."

"Yeah." Miranda's fist remained clamped on the hilt of her blade. "I thought I smelled something familiar. Dragon Daisies. I kept them in my room." She pointed to the grass. Small, bright red flowers poked up from among the blades. "Way back when, in Shanxi. Didn't know the asari thought so highly of our plant life. Thought they had rules about this sort of thing. Invasive species, or something."

"Yeah," said Jack, sniffing. The place smelled of nostalgia. "Yeah, they do."

They continued up the steps, enjoying themselves more than either would ever admit. The smoke, grime, and slavery behind them gave way to the closest thing they would find to a forest on the planet. It was almost a shock to reach the top of the steps. The doors were already flung open. An asari clad in what Jack could only describe as bark armor waited for them, twigs sticking from the shoulders of her uniform.

"Welcome, Mr. Harper. Miss Lawson. Be welcome among us." The asari bowed her head. Jack could not help but note the green tinge of her skin. He had seen asari hued a slight green before … but this woman verged on emerald. As she lifted her head and smiled at them, he thought he detected a hint of moss on her teeth. "She is waiting for you. It will be much like communing with He That Waits. You know of whom I speak."

"Who exactly will I be speaking to?" asked Jack.

"The Goddess, of course. She occasionally sees fit to intercede." The asari bowed again and smiled. Then, without warning, she vanished, leaving only a shower of petals in her wake. Jack started, and Miranda wrenched her blade a few inches free in her scabbard. But no attack came. The hair stood up on Jack's neck.

"Miranda, things are getting a little weird," he muttered through gritted teeth. Miranda actually gave a short bark of laughter. "Watch the right, all right? I'll keep an eye on the left."

Pollen hung heavy on the inside of the temple. Colorful paintings festooned the walls, frequently depicting buildings and people, both alien and human. A scarred man in a whaler suit at some kind of ritual table, a crinkled paper in his hand. A rendition of Empress Emily Kaldwin I, as a child. Abstract images of stone and wind … _the Void._ Something felt wrong.

A single stone path cut through the dark green. A rune sat twinkling on a shrine of moss and bark at the end of it. A large statue of a woman, roughly fifteen feet tall, stood over it. The features of the statue were worn away … Jack couldn't even tell if it was an asari. _Should that even be in doubt?_ Yet, between the plants and the paintings, something felt all too close to home, here. They proceeded down the path, knuckles whitening on their blades.

"Jack, I really don't like this."

"Really? I'm having a wonderful time."

The balconies on either side of them remained barren of people. The entire temple appeared empty. Yet, as they stepped before the shrine, a single bell rang overhead, loud and eerie. Jack stepped forward with a deep breath.

"If something goes wrong, just make sure to get out of here alive." Jack glanced back at Miranda, who nodded. "Finish what we started. Find Dantius. Beat the relevant information out of her. Continue onward. For as long as you can. For as long as necessary. Got me?"

"Got you." Miranda stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. It lingered for a second or two longer than Jack would have liked. He cleared his throat and she stepped backward.

"Good." Jack fixed his gaze back on the rune. "Good. Time to have a chat with this Goddess."

Gloved fingers trembling, Jack reached forward for the rune. His hand clenched around it, and he felt himself slipping away, tendrils of viridian creeping into his vision. He gasped as his nostrils filled with the scent of rampant growth, his lungs filling with air brimming with life…

Jack came to on hands and knees in a plaza of stone blanketed by flowers. Looking up, the skyline featured the familiar vistas of broken streets and floating rocks. A howling wind echoed in the distance. But here, where he knelt, the air remained thick and close. He could hear bird song.

Jack brought his gaze a little lower. A woman – and it was a woman, not an asari – stared levelly at him from atop a throne. A shock of short dark hair adorned her head, and her angular features reminded Jack of some bird of prey. she wore dark robes head to foot – again, bark armor – covered in roses and vines. She regarded Jack with a look he liked not at all.

"Rise," she commanded, and Jack unsteadily rose to his feet, stomach roiling as if he were standing on a ship entering atmo. Her purple lip curled. "Kneel."

"Really." Jack folded his arms. "Really."

"Kneel," she uttered again, drawing out the word. Jack shrugged, and took a knee, making sure to maintain eye contact with the witch. His heart thudded hard in his chest. She regarded him narrowly. "Stand."

Jack stood, stomach still swimming. The Goddess gave him a thin smile.

"Jack Harper. This is your … third trip to Illium, is it?"

"You ask the question, but I can tell you already know the answer." Jack glowered at the creature before him. _Looks human enough. Looks mortal enough._ "Who are you?"

"I ask the questions. You answer them." The Goddess cocked her head. "Yes. Third trip. I remember. Many marked people pass through Illium at one time or another. Most of them are salarian. You are the only human we have ever hosted. Normally you are beneath the notice."

The way she said human made Jack think she didn't really consider herself as such. He adjusted his expectations accordingly. _The Outsider has never changed shape, this is known. Who is this?_

"Why am I suddenly-"

"No whys." Her voice cut like a saber's edge. Jack's voice died in his throat. "No whos. No wheres, no hows, no whats. I ask the questions. I am the Goddess. You are a flea, clinging to something whose vastness and complexity you could never appreciate." She stood, nostrils flaring. "And you. Are. Hunted."

She twisted her hand. The vines on Jack's right twisted and churned. Something garish, gold, and purple emerged from the morass of green – a canvas, depicting a figure. His hand dripped blue. His eyes blazed gold.

"Another man," said the Goddess with disgust. "It has been too long since he has bestowed his gift on to an asari. The last was Morinth, who remains outside my grasp. And the last human woman was…" The Goddess stopped, gathering herself. Jack's eyes flicked between the painting and the Goddess.

A turian. Familiar enough. He stood atop a pile of dead humans, some melted, others hacked apart. _Coldridge._ His left hand dripped with his own blood, the mark raked with thick fingers. His other hand clasped a golden blade.

"Still, I suppose a turian is novel enough. It has been quite some time, I am given to understand." Jack turned back to the Goddess. She clapped, and the vines on his left unearthed a new picture, this one featuring two figures. One, clad in red whaling leathers, an Overseer's saber held aloft, parrying a golden blade while his left hand glowed a dark purple. His side of the painting remained dark and indistinct.

Saren towered over this figure, his side of the painting blazing orange and gold. A streak of lightning could be seen over his shoulder, and Jack thought he could see steam rising from his armor. _Is it raining?_ They stood upon cobblestones. The skyline looked familiar, somehow, although he could not place it.

"Just one possibility I have foreseen. It is the only one I anticipate, truth be told." The Goddess stepped forward, each step a small thunder clap. "But, first you come here. Hunted by something that has nothing to lose and everything to hate."

"He's a long way from here," said Jack, holding his ground. The Goddess smirked.

"Closer by the minute. The jaws of justice are closing around you, Jack. And now you come here, hunted, seeking Nassana Dantius." The Goddess stopped before him. She stood to his own height. "And you are not the only one. You alerted the Citadel to her activities."

"Wire charm trade cannot go unpunished." Jack stared straight ahead, his mind flashing back to Whitecliff. The Goddess tilted her head again. Jack could not help but notice that her chest remained perfectly still. _She does not breathe._

"Oh, on that we agree. Ms. Dantius has been … very unwise. Very disappointing." The Goddess reached out, her fingernails long and green. Her fingers wrapped around Jack's jaw. Jack gasped. The sensation of ice cold lingered wherever she traced her nails. Yet he kept still. The Goddess tilted his head up, then side to side. Jack tried to keep his breathing steady. "The hanar have dispatched an assassin. He will attempt to kill her tonight."

"Not if I get to her first," said Jack through gritted teeth. The Goddess smiled, and Jack noted a point to her teeth.

"Interesting. We are of one mind. However, I suspect you had a different meaning." The Goddess released her grip. "Nassana Dantius must live. I still have use for her. And no foreign agents will claim the lives of my subjects."

Jack gaped up at her. "The woman dealt in-"

"Wire charms. Yes. And you will spare her." The Goddess exposed more teeth. "This is my decree. If she dies by your hand, or the drell's hand, I will summon the justicar Samara. You may be aware of her by reputation."

Jack shut his eyes, several old news headlines running through his head. _Of course. One of the oldest. One of the strongest. One of the most unwavering._ Jack let a whistle of air go through his teeth. _Why?_

Yet Jack resisted the urge to make so much as a sound. The Goddess gave a somewhat warmer smile this time.

"Good. In the interests of fairness, the drell will not be spared either, should Dantius be slain. You will save her, Jack. And then you will leave. Tomorrow. Whatever else you do on Illium is your business." The Goddess turned on her heel and strode up the steps. She sat back down on the throne, folding one leg over the other.

"Ma'am," said Jack, not sure how else to address this … creature, "I am doing this for the good of the galaxy. I am trying to stop a war."

"Not our war," replied the Goddess, eyes black. "Not my people. Not anymore. You will save Dantius and be gone from this place, Jack." Jack's vision began to fade, his breaths coming harder and harsher.

"As a gesture of good faith – and in the interests of you completing your mission – you may keep the rune. Now go."

Jack gasped. The temple returned to him. He looked to the rune in his hand. It glowed brightly once, and then went dead. Wind rustled through the leaves. Jack stared up at the statue looming above them.

"Jack? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," replied Jack, not taking his eyes off the worn but somehow twisted features of the figure's face. "There's been a slight change of plans."

* * *

After reaching the hotel room, Jack's two compatriots maintained neutral expressions as he elaborated on what the woman had told him. Banes's lips twitched in what might have been a neutral smile at first, but it did not last. When Jack finished, he glanced at Miranda meaningfully.

"I think that might have been the false empress."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing." Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose. "The gardens, the megalomania, what you said she looked like – it bears out."

"Raises some questions. About the asari. About the Outsider. About a lot of things." Jack glanced out the window to the towering spires of Illium. "Not that we have a lot of time to question, let alone seek answers. I don't fancy having a justicar on our ass. We need to do this, fast."

"Hope you weren't thinking of letting that bitch go free, boss," said Banes mildly, stretching out languidly against the bed he leaned on. "I uh, I got a special hate for people who deal in wire charms."

"Yeah," replied Jack, remembering. "Yeah, I know it. There are other ways to punish the guilty, Banes."

"You've got a plan, Jack?" asked Miranda, cocking a single well groomed eyebrow.

Jack shrugged. "I had a plan. Our little "goddess" scuppered it. Now I just got a hunch." He wiped his mouth, thinking. "Take a shower and saddle up. We're going to pay the Dantius Towers a visit."

* * *

The bright green of Illium began to give way to a deep orange as bright day gave to soft night. The Dantius Towers broke up the lush horizon like two teeth from the earth's gums, sprouting up at the same height to even give the impression of incisors. The structures possessed a considerable berth from the other buildings around them, and Jack wondered if the space came about before or after their erection. Back in the day, Nassana Dantius quickly became infamous in certain circles for her mixture of paranoia, ruthlessness, and temper. _From up high, looks like the rest of the city is slowly edging away from her. Out of fear? Or to escape her fate?_

Drell assassins … Jack could not say he had dealt with them before. He knew them by reputation, sure. They supposedly could give Inquisitors and justicars a run for their money in the sheer trouser-shitting fear they could inflict on their targets, but Jack knew no specifics. It seemed unlikely that most people who ran afoul of drell had little opportunity to report their experiences to the galaxy at large.

"Going to give the airspace a bit of room here, boss," said Banes, turning the steering wheel right and angling the carriage downward. "Dantius don't seem the type to give us warning before nailing us with a harpoon or missile."

"Good call." Jack flexed his left hand. It felt stiff, and the mark burned as if exposed to the sun for too long. He adjusted his sunglasses further up his nose and checked himself in the mirror. _Looks fine._ "Remember, if things go south in her office, don't put yourself at risk. Her crew is expendable. Dantius is not. And take out the asari first, if things do go that way."

"Reckon she's got any krogan on her crew?" asked Miranda. Jack shook his head, but it was little more than an educated guess tinged with desperate hope. _Eclipse doesn't usually field krogan … but there's always the odd exception. The odd, bloodthirsty exception._

Banes took the air carriage down easy in an empty lot just across from the towers' entrance. As they emerged from the carriage, the cloying smell of Illium's native flowers greeted their nostrils; rows of baskets filled with plant life rimmed the walls around the lot. Miranda and Banes exchanged glances.

"My life for my mask," complained Banes, grimacing at Jack. "Figures, the one mission you tell us to go without, and it smells like rotten Gristol apples."

Jack glanced at the space around the walls. Conspicuously smooth dirt lined the floor around them. A single heavy bootprint had been haphazardly scuffed out at one of the corners. Jack could not help but note the lack of graffiti, other carriages, or indeed any signs of life at all.

"Let's get out of this lot." Jack jerked his head towards the towers, suddenly feeling uneasy. _How many secrets and "accidents" has she buried here?_ He glanced back at his crew behind him, a deep knot of anxiety twisting up in his stomach. _Touch them, Nassana, and I don't care what your pathetic goddess says; your head will roll, and I'll fling it to the drell with a smile on my face._

As the three of them strolled up to the walls ringing the towers' perimeter, a shrill whistle went up. Two mercenaries in yellow plate armor- asari judging by the gaudiness of the uniforms – peeked out from over the edge of the wall, rifles clutched in their arms.

"This is private property, and the owner is not expecting any visitors!" called out one of the mercenaries, her voice modulated but clearly female. _Great. Things go wrong, and we'll be going toe to toe with asari._ It had been silly to hope otherwise, on Illium. _Better than krogan, at least._

Miranda stepped forward, as planned.

"We're with the Hounds! Nassana is not expecting us, but she may not be expecting the drell assassin either. We're here to provide … _outside_ support." Jack nodded to himself, hoping the asari would pick up on what Miranda was getting at. Unfortunately, Jack had no way to tell through the glowing eyes of the asari's helmets. The speaker did pause to look at her sister. Then, she lifted her hand to the side of her helmet and began muttering into some unseen headset.

"Yeah, yeah. Said they were Hounds … they said something about a drell assassin?" The guard glanced down at the three of them again. "Outside support, they said. I think it was code for … right. Okay. Okay. Okay!" The merc lowered her hand and waved the three of them over to a gate.

"Keep an eye on what they do," whispered Jack. "Nassana's not exactly predictable. Odds are good she thinks we're the assassins." _Which, but for the literal grace of god, we would be._

The gate opened with a snap. Six individuals – two of them salarians, the rest either humans or asari – stormed out, blades and guns at the ready. Jack warily raised his hands while his fellows followed suit. Three mercs, one for each of them, stepped forward, hands prying their swordbelts free from their whaling outfits. One found the holster of his pistol and pulled it free. Then strong hands began patting at the rest of him.

"No other weapons!" reported the asari as she pulled away from him. Similar calls came from the others. Someone from a tower window gave a shrill whistle and they were all shoved forward.

"Come on. Viewscreen up ahead. Let her get a look at all of you."

This wasn't going quite according to plan, although it made sense it retrospect. _She shouldn't want to just invite us up to her office._ Still, it made Jack's heart pound a little. Their boots crunched against well-worn gravel as the guards shoved them towards a small guardhouse. Jack cast back one lingering glance at the human male who hoisted their equipment over his shoulder and carried it elsewhere. _Well. Up to the Void and Omnitool now. As well as my bare hands._

Racks of weapons lined one side of the guardhouse. A large series of screen lined the other, each reflecting the viewpoint of cameras scattered throughout the grounds. One screen in the center, however, instead featured the scrunched-up face of a certain asari, who leered at them as they stepped inside the hot insides of the building.

"Is this them?" she asked somewhat shrilly, to which the lead asari replied in the affirmative. Dantius licked her lips and looked from one Hound to the other, fixing on Jack momentarily. He felt a chill settle somewhere inside. _There's no reason she should know my face. No reason at all._

"Which one of you is the leader?" asked Nassana suddenly, blue eyes flicking from one of them to the other. Miranda stepped forward.

"I am, Nassana. My name is Miranda Lawson. I think you've heard of me." Miranda gestured with a gloved hand to Banes. "This is Armistan Banes, whose reputation as a swordsman may also precede him. And this is Adahn." Jack inclined his head. "He is a more recent addition – blooded but not otherwise noteworthy. We have been recruited by an interested outside party to keep you safe."

"An outside party." Nassana gave Miranda a look that frankly asked whether she was being serious. "The only outside parties I can think of would want me dead. Who sent you?"

"I don't think you would believe us if we told you, Ms. Dantius." Miranda folded her arms. Behind them, the guards tensed. Jack clenched his left hand. _Don't let it come to this. Don't make this difficult._

"Try me."

Miranda bit her lip. _I can tell she's waiting for some kind of signal from me. But I cannot give it. You're in charge, Miranda. Make the call._ Jack tried to keep his face as neutral as possible. But the sweat ran down it regardless, beading on his forehead.

"It was the Goddess at your Temple of Athame, Miranda," replied Miranda, and Jack resisted the urge to smile. _That would have been my call as well._ "We have been instructed to save you, on pain of the justicar Samara being set on us."

Dantius's left eye twitched twice. A guard coughed behind them. Jack kept his left hand clenched hard, ready to call on the Void. For a long moment, no one spoke. And still, no one spoke.

"That is such a spectacular lie that I cannot help but think it's true," said Nassana finally, albeit through gritted teeth.

"Ma'am," called out a guard from behind them, "if I might make a suggestion-"

"Would one of you kindly prove your powers so these idiots will shut up?" asked Nassana, not even glancing over to the guard. Miranda shrugged, and promptly vanished, reappearing atop a small crate in the corner. The mercs shouted and twisted while Nassana only chuckled. Miranda lightly jumped off the crate and returned to where she had just stood. One of the guards drew a pistol and pointed it square at her neck. Jack gave her a look.

"Drop it."

"Yes, peon, drop it!" called out Nassana, chuckling. The guard lowered her weapon. "These are bona fide Hounds." She narrowed her eyes. "And you're not here to kill me?"

"We are not here to kill you, Nassana," replied Miranda. "If we were, you would not have seen us coming."

Nassana nodded, now stroking her chin with a lengthy purple fingernail. "That … that is fair. The Goddess told you to come here?"

"On pain of having a justicar set on us, yes." Miranda's voice grew impatient. "Ms. Dantius, the longer we spend in here, the more time the drell will have to get the drop on us. Maybe we should continue this in your office?"

"Why would the drell want to kill me?" asked Nassana, voice becoming sweet and innocent. Banes snorted, and Miranda gave him a warning look.

"Perhaps that is a conversation better suited to your office, Ms. Dantius," replied Miranda, glancing at the mercs. "It's … rather sensitive."

Jack could tell from the sudden drop of Dantius's face that she knew _exactly_ why the drell would come. Her perfect fingernails tapped against an unseen desk. _I think she's deliberating whether to kill us or not._ _Honey, it will not go well for you._

"Very well," snapped Nassana. "Captain, get them up here-"

"I would leave one man outside," cut in Miranda. "To keep an eye on the rooftops and the other tower. These are the most likely avenues of attack." She paused, pretending to think. Then she lifted a hand towards Jack. "Adahn. He will warn us of imminent attack."

"If Ms. Dantius allows it," replied Jack stiffly, glancing back to the asari. She scowled.

"Fine. Fine! It's you I want anyway, Miranda. Get them up here."

Miranda coughed. "Our weapons…?"

"No, I don't think so," replied Nassana shortly. "If what I have heard about you is true, you shouldn't need them for this anyway. They'll be returned to you when you leave."

 _If we leave._ Jack kept his face still as they were led out. All but one salarian left with Banes and Miranda to the main tower entrance, Miranda casting one glance back as she did so. _You'll be fine._ The salarian drew up to Jack, who took a step backward. _They're quick. Keep a distance._

"Stay out of restricted areas," said the salarian shortly. "Your omnitool will ping red. We catch you there – it's going to be bad."

"And what if the assassin cunningly dives in there?" asked Jack, making the sarcasm plain. The salarian cocked his head.

"Then call security. We find you dueling the assassin in the boss's private conference room or some such, we'll just kill you both."

 _Real crack security team they've got here._ Jack gave the salarian a small bow.

"Understood. Keep your eyes peeled."

"For you and the drell both." The salarian turned on his heel. Jack turned to the second tower, whose shadow he currently stood draped in. The first level beckoned. He clenched his left hand into a fist. _Let's go._

It almost felt a shame that the goddess had demanded Nassana's survival. The two towers, the cranky Eclipse guards, and the utterly unsympathetic target would have made for an engaging mission. _Instead, the drell gets all the fun._ Jack unclenched his fist and felt his feet wobble. He stood on the outside of the tower, on a ledge before one of the windows. He took one look at the buildings around. _No sign of movement._ He would have to go higher.

The drell was the secondary priority. Nassana had to live, after all. But the primary goal was to neutralize her; the galaxy was unstable enough thanks to … recent events … without a wealthy asari funneling wire charms through Citadel space. If that meant killing her, so be it, although between Saren and Samara, Jack's only means of survival might have been to somehow pit the two of them against each other. _And my people would get hurt._ That was not the best outcome. _But … if what I hear about this woman was true._

The bodies buried under their parking lot? They were far from the only people Nassana had put beneath the ground. Jack would not have been surprised to learn the entire building's foundation rested on the bones of people unfortunate enough to get in her way. _It says something about an asari when she starts with six sisters … and now she's the only one left._ Jack released his grip and immediately fell back against the wall of the second story, breathing heavily. The wind already felt a little stronger and a little cooler than it had seconds ago. All across Nos Astra, the lights began to dim.

On the fifth of the eighteen stories, Jack began to realize he would not be able to make his whole trip on the outside of the building. The wind buffeted at his face and made his eyes water, his lips felt frozen, and the ledges grew ever more precipitous. To his right, a window lay partially open. He kicked it open the rest of the way and bent down, slipping inside with a twinge in his back. The shock of warmth that went through him took his breath away.

The interior of the building met Jack's expectation immediately. Glass cases containing prothean figurines stood to either side of the wall, each with a small placard detailing where they were found and their probable purpose. The hallway Jack stood on wound forward to the main staircase, whose center featured an illuminated glass pane. _That's the main way up._ Jack clapped his hands together and proceeded forward. _Hopefully security knows I'm up here. Probably best to avoid them anyway._

Jack whistled a certain tune about a drunken whaler as he approached the staircase, quickly passing his hand in front of his face to get a better idea of where everyone was. Sure enough, the building came alive with the sensation of nearby bone charms and runes, but he did not have time for them. Teams of two guards patrolled both above and below, and the higher he looked, the more there were. However, he saw no sign of any lean and furtive assassin … just bored men and women with helmets cradled under one arm, a cigarette in the other hand.

"You the auxiliary?" Two humans came from further down the stairs, hands resting on the hilts of their sabers. "One of the Hounds? HQ radioed in and said the boss gave the okay."

"Yeah." Jack jerked his head back to where he came from. "Came in through the window." He coughed and then leaned in. "I was told some areas are off limits and that my omnitool would ping red. Can you give me a better idea…?"

"If it's locked, back off. Higher you go, worse it gets. They don't even let us in on the top floor." The guard pointed up. "Think that's where the boss likes to bury stuff. Only the Cap'n and the people he personally clears get to go up there."

"The Cap'n?"

The guard laughed. "Yeah. He's been on Nassana's payroll for a while. 'Til death do 'em part, he says, but I think he assumed that would have been sooner than it was. You'll know him when you see him. Big old hat. Prone to grumbling." The guard paused. "Still, uh, don't get on his bad side."

"Right."

The guard gestured further down the stairs. "Gotta get going. Scream if you see him."

"Yeah," replied Jack, feeling for where his sword should have been. _Might have to get inventive if it comes to that._

Jack proceeded further up the steps, trying to ignore the sensation that he was trespassing. On one floor, water tinkled gently into a small stone fountain, around which guards smoked cigarettes and cast furtive looks his way. On another, from behind a closed door two argued loudly about…

"Where the hell's the Cap'n? He should have checked in by now."

"Lavvy. He's old, he says, what do you expect?"

"Still? He buggered off half an hour ago. Seems more like he wants to collect more pay for doing nothing. There's an assassin on the loose, for Void's sake!"

"You have a problem with it, take it up with him."

The dissenting voice quickly shut up. _Right._ Jack continued upward, occasionally letting his eyes glaze over and look through the wall and floor. The second-to-last was the greatest convergence of wires and people. Jack's omnitool pinged red as he reached the penultimate stairwell, but he only sighed and then smiled. _Okay. Still have the omnibow. It'll be fine._

Jack stopped before the sealed bulkhead that would take him inside the restricted offices. He promptly doubled back to the floor below and passed down a short wooden hallway to a closed window. Sucking in a deep breath, he wrenched it open and winced at the cold. He then slid through, his boots questing at the short ledge for purchase. There was far, far less space than he would have liked. Nevertheless, he pushed himself up, keeping one hand on the frozen pane of the glass.

 _It's fucking freezing!_ Each breath felt like an icicle down his windpipe. Jack looked up, eyes watering, at the next level. Sucking in a frigid breath, he clenched his left hand. The howl of the Illium wind quieted in the face of the Void's own cacophony. Then he released his grasp, and immediately pressed himself forward against the glass, grunting at how it burned against his nose.

 _Gonna lose a little skin._ He pulled himself off the glass with a twinge of pain, and then blinked. No one occupied the space beyond the glass. He kicked, twice, at the window, and then pulled himself inside as it swung open just a hair. _Thank the Void. Thought I might have to break it._ He closed it behind him and then turned around.

A small lobby greeted him. An unoccupied desk sat in the center of the room, a small book laying on top of it. A fountain slightly mitigated the sound of howling wind from the window by supplying the sounds of moving water. A spiral staircase went upwards … and as Jack looked, two asari began descending the steps, their boots making nary a noise. Jack let his mark burn.

Time stopped. He looked around for anything to hide behind. The options were the desk or … one of the lights above, hanging from the ceiling. _If it can support my weight._ If it couldn't, things became interesting. Miranda and Banes would hopefully get the idea if he suddenly stopped time. _Get the hell out of that office if it comes to that._ He released his grip. The light swung slightly as materialized atop it, making his heart stutter. _Don't notice don't notice don't notice…_

"Hold up." At the bottom of the staircase, one of the asari lifted a hand. Jack's heart stopped, but the asari just held a hand to her helmet and listened to her earpiece. "Yes, Cap'n. No sign of intrusion. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

"Goddess, my legs are cramping." The other guard leaned against the desk. Jack kept very, very still. "How long do we have to keep this up?"

"Until the situation is normal. Hopefully the board will excuse her lateness, seeing as she's due there in an hour." The guard did not sound very concerned. "Or not. Fuck this posting. This isn't what I had in mind for the Sisterhood."

"And what did you have in mind?" asked the other, giggling. "Sword clashing on sword in dark alleys? Punting vorcha into the sun with your biotics?"

"I dunno. It didn't include standing around doing nothing at the behest of a paranoiac psychopath." The asari coughed and then motioned onward. "C'mon. Other teams won't like it if they don't see us."

The two asari sidled off, yawning. Jack breathed a little easier. _The board. She's due for a meeting._ Didn't seem too useful, but everything helped. Jack blinked and headed up the stairs. Rows of offices greeted him. Another pair of guards, two salarians, smoked in the corner office. _But we want the big office in the corner._

Jack's Void Gaze also spied a camera pointed just over the lip of the entrance. He stood directly under it, out of sight, and waited for it to turn just a little bit to the left. _Go._

He reappeared in front of the right door, and opened and shut it without a sound. He kept his ear pressed to the wood, intermittently glancing at the camera and the two salarians. They put out their cigarettes and stepped down the hallway and down the stairs. Neither bothered to check behind the doors.

The camera turned. Jack blinked to the front of the office rows and ducked behind the closest cubicle. A large, oak door now stood between him and what looked like Dantius's office for the building. _Electronic lock. Outie can get me in._ Of course, no way in Void Outie could get him inside without the camera showing him the extent of his failings … and time stop would affect the VI as well.

This called for a crude and improbable solution. Jack directed his energies behind him, just under the camera. His brow knitted with effort and sweat ran down his face as the shadows congealed into something shaped like a man beneath the camera, a blade in its hands. It stared (impressive, given it lack of face) at Jack expectantly.

 _The camera._ The shadow nodded. It reached up, extremities stretching unnaturally long. It covered the lens with a single dark hand. _It's really going to hurt it this takes more than thirty seconds. And someone is going to notice the camera going black, I can feel it…_

Jack rushed forward to the lock, omnitool blaring.

"Outie, crack this."

"Running auto hack program. Stand by."

Jack waited, teeth gritting. His shadow stood at the other end of the hallway. As Jack started to shake with effort, its silhouette began to blur.

The omnitool cracked and blared.

"Estimated time: ten seconds."

Fuck, it felt like holding a plank back at the Abbey. Jack heaved in as much air as he could as his chest tightened. The figure still faded slightly, going from midnight black to a very dark gray. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip.

With a click, the door came loose. He pushed it aside and slammed it shut, cursing at the sudden noise. _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ He released his double, and felt the weight fade from his chest and stomach. He stood there for a moment, panting. _I doubt I have very long._

Nassana's office possessed a commendable number of books. Books lined the shelves and several sat atop her desk. A golden globe of Illium (centered on Nos Astra, naturally) even had an open book atop it. More prothean figures in glass cases lined one side of the room, and the large windows pointedly had the curtains drawn, letting in the quickly fading light of Illium's sunset.

A computer occupied Dantius's desk. But what really interested Jack lay under it. He swept his fingers in front of his eyes. A hatch and a small set of stairs lay hidden just under the desk and shag rug. Under that? The hum of a rune. His eyes watered at the scent of Void magic. _A classic._ Jack pushed the desk aside, wincing as it squeaked against the wood of the floor once it left the rug. Then he pulled the rug away, revealing the brass of a heavy knocker. He hoisted it up and descended, his enhanced vision substituting for the lack of light.

The Outsider Shrine burned bright yellow in his gaze. But … wires led up to it, criss-crossed through it, even sunk into the rune on its surface. A vid screen sat propped up by the mess of spikes and metal, its surface inactive. _I haven't seen tech like this since … batarian space._

Jack bit his lip and stepped forward. The air hummed with magic and electricity. He suddenly felt, with utmost certainty and no proof, like something watched him. _But it changes nothing. I have a job to do._ Jack lightly pressed his fingers against the Outsider Shrine. It lit up immediately. A Void wind howled through Jack's ears. The screen shone through his eyes and directly to his spirit, recognizing his authority. His mark _burned._

"Wire charms." Jack wiped his mouth. His mind shot forward like an arrow, questing through fragments of Void. He could sense … approval. _It takes the asari bitch just thirty minutes just to-_

A memory. A fresh one. Speaking with … a human. White attire. Commanding in authority.

"I well remember when my colony burned at the behest of those zealots, woman, so don't go trying to sweet talk me." Familiar. So familiar. "I need no persuasion. Send word to your people. I'll have the schedules in under a week. You're sure he can get the job done?"

"Yes, Mr. Lawson. He has quite the record."

The memory faded away. Jack's fingers pressed hard against the metal. _You … you…_

Jack looked onward, searching. _Wire charms. Why is she dealing in wire charms?_

Another memory, even newer. It felt cold.

"Why must I deal in wire charms?" she asked, arms folded. The alien before her on the other side of the screen, shrouded, cocked his head at the query.

"Destabilize. Undermine. Get people angry." His accent was heavy, cloaked in the heavy intonations of one born in the Kite's Nest. _Batarian …_ only something was not right. The width of the shoulders. The posture. "The Hegemony seeks closer relations with the Empire. The Terminus seeks a free market for certain goods. Can you not see the profit in a conflict breaking out between Council and humanity?"

"I see a lot of risk and not a lot of reward. Just transporting those things … you lose people." Nassana frowned, and Jack frowned with her. "With what's planned tomorrow … we could tip things too far. If the Ecclesiarchy will not stand for it-"

"The Ecclesiarchy will be reigned in by more secular elements, I assure you." The figure chuckled. "And you will be well-compensated for every shipment you make. I guarantee C-Sec will not be looking too hard."

Dantius shrugged. "Void take me, I'll do it."

The vision faded. _Questions. More questions._ The screen fizzled. There was one more. A conversation on the edge of hearing.

"Is she dead?" The response was inaudible. Nassana smiled and paced before the screen. "Good. She should have known is forthcoming. Thank you." Nassana tapped the screen, but the screen and rune still listened. "Oh, Lydia. My dear, sweet sister. I did say I would kill you last." Nassana's finger traced the rune's edges. Jack felt a flare of _hate_. _Pretenders, all. Try to be more interesting. Fools, all. Dabbling in magics will bring them…_

The vision faded. Jack could find nothing else relating to wire charms. But something lurked at the edge of the screen's place in the Void. A cold, dark place.

 _I have to._ He didn't know why, but he felt drawn. His finger tapped against the edge of the screen. _Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. And – stop!_

Something glowed red but not hot. Something touched the Void but lived it not. Something watched with no eyes and waited for a clock to strike…

Batarians strode by a window overlooking some desolate and empty portion of space. A vast shipyard lay below, construction rigging set up around something vast and quietly angry. A batarian turned around and stared, but the four eyes were not his.

" **You do not belong here."**

A blast of icy cold shook Jack's entire frame. He took a step backward, gasping. The screen went dead. _What the hell was that?_ It felt like the Citadel, only worse. The shrine's room suddenly felt stifling, oppressive. Jack tried to activate his void gaze again, only for it to fail. _What?_ His mark flared and sputtered. _Something is wrong. Something is wrong._

He stared down at the horrible mishmash of magic and technology. _I have a murder confession. I need to use it._ He reached out one last time, and it felt like something pushed him back. Jack fell forward against the shrine-computer, and felt for the penultimate memory.

"Outie – record!"

The screen came back to life. Jack's omnitool blared and scanned the screen, taking in every last second. At the word "last" the screen died again. Jack fell backward, head pounding.

 _This is a bad place. I need to leave._

Jack hurried back up the stairs, almost tripping, and emerged panting back to the office. He swept fingers in front of his eyes. _Still doesn't work._ He twitched a finger and felt a twinge as the auto-injector sent Piero's Remedy flooding his veins. A hint of warmth, rising by the second. _Okay, good. Good._

With a fresh wave of heat flooding through his being, Jack hurriedly dragged the rug back in place, and then the carpet on top of it. The computer shifted as he shoved the squeaking desk back in place. He stood up and straightened it, only to see the door open. Jack saw the tricorn hat before he saw what was under it. What was under it did not look pretty.

The krogan snorted as he saw Jack, his red eyes narrowing. The krogan's bare arms pulsed with the snaking black lines of the Mark of the Eaten, and mail armor over a leather jerkin adorned his thick chest. A massive battleaxe hung loosely from his belt, its edge gleaming. Old scars crisscrossed the krogan's arms and face but did nothing to instill a sense of fragility or vulnerability.

Jack raised his arms defensively. The Cap'n shoved the door behind him with a snap. Then he cast his eyes on either side of the room, searching for anyone else.

"Cap'n?" A voice, faint, but coming from his headset. The krogan shook his head, leaving the headset loose. "Cap'n, what is-" He flung the headset aside. Then, very carefully, he removed his hat and left it on the rack beside the door. Then he cracked his knuckles and smiled.

"I warn you," said Jack, voice cracking and warmth finally, _finally_ , flooding back into his arms, "I have powers." His mark flared. The krogan only smiled more widely.

"So do I." The krogan's arms pulsed blue. He growled and beckoned. Jack screamed as the pull yanked him forward toward the krogan. He blinked and let the energies carry him backward, but the Void did nothing to still momentum. He careened into the desk with the same amount of force he would have the krogan, and the wind flew from his lungs.

The krogan roared and brandished an axe. Jack felt for his sword on instinct, realized it was not there, and immediately rolled out of the way. A heavy crash behind him announced the desk's new existence as a pile of splinters.

"Come on, boy!" The krogan laughed as Jack rolled, windpipe still shut, and stood. "Stop time! Summon vines! Do _something._ " The krogan brought his glowing left arm back, and Jack could not help but comply. Time stood still at his command – but it wasn't happy about it. He doubled over, chest tightening, but still staggered out of the room, his breath finally coming back in one ragged gasp.

 _Not long, not long at all!_ The offices – none of them would do, he'd be found. He sprinted for the staircase. The world resumed as he cleared the last step.

"You stopped time itself to _hide_ from me?!" bellowed a distant, but rapidly closing voice. "Is this the kind of filth he chooses for his mark?!"

Jack ran for the window, kicking it open once again. This time he would have neither the time nor the angle to shut it again. He pushed himself through, bottom scraping against the edge as he went, and immediately transversed to the next floor down, where the window was still open. He reentered the warm gratefully, heart pounding. Jack looked left and then right. _Closet. Closet!_ He turned his void gaze on, checking for life. None. He shoved himself inside. On the staircase, guards rushed to and fro, and some on the ground floor … some lay still?

"Where?" The krogan's voice boomed from outside the door, disconcertingly loud. "Shove it! You take the assassin, I've got a bigger problem. Go! Head him off!"

Jack followed the krogan's glowing form through the walls. The krogan grunted as it entered the main room. His head turned this way and that, huffing impatiently.

"Little rat, I can hear your heartbeat race." The krogan looked to the room next to the closet and strode with purpose inside. Jack wasn't sure whether to giggle at the krogan's false surety or breath a sigh of relief. He did neither, because he wanted to live. _Do I wait? Dash out? Time stop and dash out?_

The krogan's glowing form came disconcertingly close to Jack. _He's standing just on the other side of the wall. Was he lying?_ Jack's breathing became sharper, more intense. The sweat beaded on his brow.

The krogan reared back, and Jack ducked just in time. A glowing meaty fist punched through the wall and where his head had been, reaching and grasping for a neck. The hand retreated, and a red eye replaced it in the wall. The krogan snarled as Jack shoved open the door and stumbled out, making for the staircase.

"Stop running!"

Pounding footsteps erupted behind Jack. Jack cast his left hand back and sent up a shadow, its blade black and sharp. He heard the krogan laugh briefly, followed by the clash of steel on steel. _Seconds. I have seconds!_ He felt the shadow wrenched apart by an axe blow, its death both a relief and a condemnation. He descended the stairs in a hurry.

"What the-"

Two guards, asari. They had weapons. One lifted an arm to prepare some biotics. Jack lifted his to stop time.

Jack's vision blurred. His heart hammered in his chest. _Can't … keep this up._ With a twinge of guilt, he ripped a blade free from the scabbard of one asari. Then, with a grunt, he smashed open the glass in the staircase with the hilt, sending a thousand razor sharp shards spraying into the air and freezing in place, glittering like deadly raindrops. Then, he stood behind the asari, a hand on each. _Sorry. Void take us all._

Jack grunted and pushed forward. Both asari, light even with their combat armor on, fell forward before freezing again. When time took hold, the momentum would send them over the edge. _They signed up for the risk._ Jack continued down the stairs as fast as he was able, knees starting to wobble. _One more shot of Piero's. Then I'm up the creek._

Time snapped back to place. Two high voices screamed as two blue bodies fell past Jack down the stairwell. A crunch echoed up from below.

"Assassin! Help!" Eclipse soldiers surged up the stairwell. Jack, blade in hand, cursed and headed right, through a door and a set of offices. A gunshot rang out from behind, but went wide, puncturing a window. The cracks immediately began to spread. Someone familiar bellowed from behind.

Jack, out of ideas, ran to the rapidly diminishing window and leapt. It broke, and Jack fell through to open air. He clenched his left fist. Time stopped. _Destination. Destination._

He had a fair amount of momentum. He craned his neck behind him. The krogan's livid gaze seemed to pierce even the Void's wind. But straight ahead on the other tower … a balcony. A landing. Close enough.

Jack released his grip and rolled as he landed, back and neck aching. He stood up and shivered in the cold. On the other side, a small crowd of Eclipse, helmed by the Cap'n himself, looked back.

The krogan held out an arm to his side. The mercs backed up. Then the krogan shouted something, and blurred blue.

"Oh, _fuck_ me-"

Jack dove through the shut doors as the krogan erupted on to the balcony, propelled by his biotics. Concrete and glass shattered at his arrival, and the doors Jack had just jumped through burst apart. The krogan shouldered his way through the wreckage, axe raised. _Running is not an option._ Jack readied his stolen blade. _Time to make a fight of it._

"About time!" snarled the krogan, axe gleaming. He leapt forward, a blur of angry red. Jack danced aside, his own blade flicking out. It nicked the twisting black shapes on the krogan's arm, drawing blood the shade of midnight. The krogan laughed, but Jack could hear an edge of pain to it.

Jack kept his back foot planted and blade straight ahead. The krogan eyed Jack with renewed respect, even as the sweat and blood ran down Jack's eyes head and into his eyes. He used his free hand to wipe it clean, smearing the liquids over his gloves.

 _Another syrette._ The last one. Jack's wrist twinged again as the needle went in, but it was nothing compared to the relief and the way his vision sharpened back to normal. _Have to finish this … Miranda and Banes, I hope you're okay…_

The krogan shook his head and chuckled to himself. He made a gesture with an azure hand, trying to pull Jack in. This time, Jack clenched his fist and let the momentum take him.

With a howl of eldritch air, he rematerialized behind the krogan, who grunted in confusion. Jack leapt forward atop the alien's back and drove his blade in as deep as it would go between hump and neck. The krogan's shields flared blue, and Jack recoiled as the tech repulsed him. _Too hard! Hit him too hard!_

"Heh. Nice." The krogan's free arm jerked backward, his elbow coming within an inch of Jack's face. Then the krogan spun, axe wheeling about in a deadly arc. Jack ducked low, feeling a rush of air as the blade went over where his neck had just been. _Odds are my shields would stop one of these blows._ He really, _really_ didn't feel like testing out that theory, though. Odds were good it would still send him reeling, same as getting shot.

Jack rolled to the side, pain creeping in through the adrenaline. The Cap'n's arms ran black with contaminated blood now, but the krogan paid it no mind. He shook his head once, glowering at Jack, who began taking careful step backwards, his rear foot scraping against glass and rubble as he backed away. The krogan paused, snickered, and reached for his belt.

The Cap'n drew a pistol with the longest barrel Jack had ever seen and aimed it square. Jack let the Void take him upwards, atop one of the swinging lights. The pistol reported once, making Jack's ears ring, and sending up the kind of smoke Jack would have associated with a cannon shot. The krogan laughed and pulled the hammer back on his pistol, red eyes swinging this way and that for his prey.

 _Come on …_ Jack readied his blade with one hand and let the shadows coalesce with the other. His phantom emerged from behind the krogan, blade ready. Jack leapt from the lights without any warcry, just a muffled grunt of exertion.

The krogan looked up just in time to get a face full of Jack. He bellowed in surprise and anger as Jack landed partway on his back, temporarily driving him to a knee. Jack reared back and laid the point of his blade again between point and neck. This time he drove it forward, paused, and then pushed it in slowly.

The Cap'n cried out in genuine pain before shaking, throwing Jack to the side. Jack landed nimbly, knees protesting only weakly through the adrenaline. The krogan looked up at him, red blood running down his own scarred face now, Jack's borrowed blade sticking straight up from his neck like a toothpick through cheese. He opened his mouth, probably to offer some taunt, only to stagger. His mouth opened, only for a trickle of red to spill out. A tip of midnight black protruded through his chest, its edges shimmering. From behind, Jack's shadow twisted the blade, making the krogan issue a strangled gasp.

The krogan stepped forward, pulling himself free, and then sent his elbow flying back again. The shadow ducking nimbly, only for the side of the massive alien's axe to catch him. The shadow faded back to whence it came, indescribable oblivion.

Jack kept his arms at the ready, keeping his eyes fixed on his blade, still affixed to the krogan. The Cap'n, eyes crazed, covered in his own blood and spit, aimed the gun square at Jack, one last time. _Okay. Okay._ Jack had one shot at this. His mark glowed in anticipation. He cocked his head at the krogan, in a way he knew invited challenge. _Come on!_

The krogan squeezed the trigger, and Jack pulled his own. With a shrill cry, he pulled on time, turning all to gray stillness. The bullet, bigger than any Jack had ever seen, had just emerged from the Cap'n's hand cannon. It stood just barely an inch away from the krogan. Jack staggered forward, Void pulsing through his arms. _An inch. I barely have to move him an inch!_

Jack, muscles straining with a strength beyond someone not touched by the Outsider, pushed the krogan. The krogan tilted, unbalancing. _He'll at least fall over, even if I fail._ Still, Jack shifted him, pushing with hip and arms, slowly circling the Cap'n around his own bullet as if he were a piece of heavy furniture. The Void's whistling grew louder. _Come on…_

The krogan now stood diagonal to the bullet. Jack, out of energy and time. Simply planted a foot on the creature's back and pushed. The krogan's head went forward, directly into the path of the bullet. Jack staggered backwards, waiting. _Okay … okay._

Time snapped back. The pistol report boomed loud in Jack's ears, but it still did not deafen him to the sound of a shield shattering like glass, nor that of something hard and heavy smacking flesh and then bone.

The Cap'n spun and fell to the floor with a wet crash, half of his face landing next to him in a stew of steaming flesh. The sound of burned … well, Jack assumed it was brains, assaulted his nostrils. The krogan groaned and turned, one bloody arm pushing himself away from the floor, Jack's blade still wobbling from its perch in his neck. His single remaining eye fixed on the gore before looking up at Jack, the hate and anger replaced by … fear.

"Uh-"

The krogan collapsed face first into the remnants of half his skull, the exposed muscle and remaining tissue twitching. Jack stood there, panting, not sure whether to cry and walk away, or…

"I'm sorry." Jack stepped forward and plucked the blade from the krogan's flesh. Then he knelt down and dragged the blade over the marked flesh of the Cap'n's arms, which parted as easily as necrotic tissue. The blood boiled out, noxious and blacker than soot. "I can't let you get back up."

Redundant nervous systems were a hell of a thing, and Jack didn't want to test whether the krogan's own bullet had perforated both brains. Jack stood, the old sense of unreality bearing down on him. _Shock. Battle fatigue. A hard day still ahead of me._ It was normal. It was also still profoundly discomforting.

Jack staggered out of the ruined office space and into the main lobby. A quick sweep with his fingers revealed the guards had abandoned their posts for the … top floor. Multiple prone figures lay still in Dantius's office, but a small crowd of armed figures gathered outside it. Jack staggered through the granite lobby and up the stairs, his legs burning and his knees creaking. When he arrived at the seven guards gathered before the heavy oak door, bloody blade in hand, they did not notice him at first. That was unfortunate.

Jack lifted his left hand and let the omnibow fold out. They were all asari and humans, which meant this would be nice and quick. He fired twice, pegging one in the shoulder and another in the throat, making them grunt and reach up to find the quivering darts in them. The others turned as Jack took the third and forth, the omnibow issuing an electronic twang with each pull. They staggered back, movements instantly becoming sluggish. The remaining three rushed forward with a cry.

Jack fired twice more, and then lifted his blade. The sole remaining guard's blade met his in an ugly clang of steel, sending her backwards with a grunt. Jack pulled back a fist and hit her square in the jaw, sending her reeling. Then he drew her close, arms around her neck, his own enhanced strength just barely countering the flood of exhaustion that threatened to drown him.

The woman went limp. Jack let her down slowly. All around him her companions called out in slurred voices, some of them still gamely clasping on to their blades. Jack kicked one aside as his owner let go of it, asking him where he was going. Jack put a hand against the smoothed door of the wood and leaned against it for a moment, breathing heavily. _How long can you keep this up? You're not twenty four anymore._ Jack shut his eyes for a moment and felt every creak of pain and twinge in the chest. _Desolas should have been your last crusade, you old fool. Now look at this._

Jack pushed the door open with a growl, shaking blood and sweat free from his head. Nassana Dantius knelt on the floor with her hands on her head, both Banes's and Miranda's (stolen) swords pointed at her eyes widening as Jack strode inside, none of her guards in tow.

"I didn't want this, for the record." Jack flung his own blade to the side and knelt down next to her, bringing his bloody face close to hers. "Your Goddess did give me a mission. But I had another of my own. Involving your little trade in wire charms." He looked up at Miranda. "Infiltration went smooth, until her krogan found me."

"Is he…?" Nassana's lip wobbled as she looked up at Jack.

"Dead. Sorry." Jack flicked a hand back to the ajar door behind him. "They're alive, though. Killed two others in the opposite tower. But that's it. Any other deaths are on the assassin."

Banes coughed politely.

"And him."

"So." Nassana licked her lips and looked away. "What now?"

"We take you to your board meeting and leave the planet." Miranda started in surprise, but Jack lifted a hand. "We got what we came for. And we promised not to harm you."

"But…" Dantius looked up weakly. "The assassin…"

Jack shrugged. "I never saw him. He won't come in this room while we're in here." It was only a guess, but Jack looked up through the Void. They were the only living people in the room. Hell, they were the only conscious people in the building. "We can stop time, sweetheart." Well, they could. Jack decided not to mention that doing so at the very moment would probably cause him to pass out.

Jack extended a gloved hand, some of the flesh visible through the torn leather. Nassana took it tremulously. Jack jerked his head back.

"Come one. We'll get you cleaned up, and then you can tell us the way. We'll get you to the board safely. Past that is your concern." _She would probably send a justicar after us regardless._

"And you won't go to anybody about your … evidence?" Nassana remained planted on the ground, despite gripping Jack's hand. Jack smiled down at her.

"I assure you – your dealings in wire charms are safe with me."

* * *

Jack looked down from the projector room. Nassana, nervous but commanding, gestured to a flickering screen about her upcoming plans for renovating some of the lower levels of Nos Astra. As far as Jack could tell, it involved the mass removal of impoverished alien immigrants in favor of shopping centers, and would involve heavy Eclipse involvement. But it was hard to tell from where he was, hacking into the projector.

"Outie, play the footage."

The diagrams changed to something a bit more lively. For a moment, Jack got to see Nassana's barely imperious expression change from confusion to livid horror as she turned to see her own face, writ large, smirk about killing her own sister.

"This is a mistake!" she cried out, but her fellow asari already smelled blood in the water, as well as a loose end to cut free. One even pounced forward and pinned her down while the others phoned the authorities. _Doubtless somebody is getting a promotion._ Jack did not smell virtue from where he stood, only opportunism. He could not help but crack a wry smile. _At best, her replacement will just be a little less awful. Still, a marked improvement._

"I came here to kill the woman," said a calm, dry voice from behind Jack, making his blood freeze, "but it seems you have already succeeded in destroying her."

Jack turned, half expecting a blade to be pressed through his guts. Instead, he found a short, green alien with shining black eyes, shorter than him, staring back with his arms folded neatly behind. The drell inclined his head.

"Your methods are messy, but krogan rarely permit easy escape once the prey is found. Your combat ability commands respect, even if your assassin skills need work."

"I didn't come here to kill anybody." Jack cast a hand back at the now empty boardroom below. "Goddess's orders."

The drell sniffed. He stepped forward next to Jack. Even at a head shorter, Jack got a powerful impression of … well, power, from the drell. His lithe form rippled with muscle, from what Jack could see of it. _Perfect control. A living weapon._

"I still have my orders you know," said the drell casually, not looking at Jack. "All you have done is made my job a little more difficult, but it would not be the first prison execution I have carried out. The Ascendancy demands her head. Literal or figurative – they said it at my discretion."

"I would recommend against it." The drell turned to him surprised. Jack gave him a tired look. "The asari Goddess-"

"Delilah."

Jack started. He gave the drell an incredulous look.

"The Void is not so secret to those willing to look. The hanar have always remained abreast of such events. So – what has Delilah told you?"

"That this one is to live. Otherwise we get a justicar sent after us." Jack shrugs. "Guess she plays favorites." _Not like the Outsider._

"I see." The drell looked back at the board room. "I suppose that does change things."

For several long moments, maybe a minute, the two just stood there, surveying the last place Nassana Dantius would visit as a free woman. Then the drell looked up to Jack.

"A question, if I may, before I leave."

Jack looked down at the assassin, too tired to care if this was the end. He doubt he would be able to tell if the drell was about to kill him. _Too professional for that sort of thing. He's not even really here right now._

"Shoot."

"You assassinated Desolas." It was not a question. The drell continued without pausing. "You have, time and time again, displayed a disregard for the lives of targets and that of galactic stability. You are a butcher's instrument, favored by the batarians for jobs deemed dirty or impossible. Yet this – this was done at the behest of who?"

"Myself." Jack hung his head and gave the drell a wry smile. "I thought killing the general would be the start of a new era. I forgot that first the old one has to end – and this one looks apt to end in the blood of my Empire."

"You consider yourself a patriot, then?"

Jack furrowed his brow, feeling a stir of something deep down.

"Always. Wasn't – wasn't it obvious?" _I was raised in the Abbey. Until recently I was in contact with the Royal Spymaster herself. She – she was my friend. The Empress, I would do anything for-_

"I see. Perhaps I did not have the grip of you." The drell shrugged. "Or perhaps the grip has changed. It is not my place to say. I am only the instrument of the hanar."

The drell extended an impeccable gloved hand. Jack gripped it with his own torn, bloodied fingers.

"I will relay what has happened to the Ascendancy." The drell inclined his head as he shook the hand once. "This solution may appease them. Her threat to the galaxy is ended."

"And if it isn't?"

The drell pulled his hand away. "Then my job is not done. I would recommend you be far from here by then." The drell smiled. "But that was already the plan, was it not?"

Jack gave a tired smile back and made for the exit. The drell watched him leave, arms folded behind his back, a mix of pity and respect fighting for dominance in his gaze.


	8. Lying Tongue

The door slammed open and Banes strode in to the hotel room. With one arm he ripped off his mask, revealing a sweat-slicked face; with the other, he tossed Jack a small bundle of scabbards and pistols.

"Get all of 'em?" asked Jack, turning over the leather with his hands, counting each blade.

"Yeah," replied Banes, sitting down on the bed and wiping his brow. "Watch all over the shop, but they were more interested in grabbing evidence than checking out the armory. Had to put one of them to sleep." He grinned at Jack. "Saw them wheeling out a big old corpse. You really killed a krogan on your lonesome?"

"Yeah." Jack took his own blade and tossed Miranda hers. She swiped it out of the air and pulled it free, inspecting it for any new nicks. "Battlemaster, too. Swiped at me with his biotics a few times." _The galaxy has lost something precious. Rare._

"Outsider's eyes, Jack," laughed Banes, leaning forward and clapping him on the shoulder. "Didn't think you had it in you." Jack looked up at Banes. The mirth drained from his eyes in an instant. _Tired._ Banes wiped his mouth and looked away for a second. "Do you, uh, do you reckon the Bitch Queen will take issue with what you did to Dantius?"

"I kept my word. She has to keep hers." Jack shrugged. He wasn't positive, but he had a good feeling about that at least. "It's just the way of things."

"What's our next move?" asked Miranda, sheathing her blade and tossing it to a nearby desk. "We got our next breadcrumb, right?"

Jack looked up at her, the weariness gradually going bone deep. _Oh, Miranda. I always wondered whether this day would come._ For a moment he considered saying nothing, or perhaps lying. _But … she was there at the beginning. And if we both have our way, she'll be there at the end._

"Your father, Miranda." Miranda's lips instantly tightened, becoming a thin line of deliberate ambiguity. He saw something in her eyes, though. Something rare. _Fear._ "The Duke of Shanxi. His motives, at least, we can understand. His colony burned."

"What are you planning?" asked Miranda, her voice a peculiar monotone. Jack shrugged.

"Talk to him. Privately. And at length. Oleg should be able to get us a way in."

" _I_ can get us a way in," replied Miranda, partially through gritted teeth. "I used to climb all over that palace – without transversals. I've been in his office, his bedroom, his private bloody Outsider Shrine. You'll need me."

 _Need? Perhaps._ Jack gave her a lingering look. She glowered back at him.

"We'll talk it over with Oleg." Miranda did not look away as he said this. "Miranda – I cannot treat this like any other mission. If Oleg judges it best, I'll bring you in. I swear it."

Miranda grabbed her blade from the desk and made for the door. Despite closing it behind her as softly as Jack could imagine, it still somehow felt like a slam. Banes sighed and rolled on to his back, staring up at the ceiling above.

"You're not bringing her on that mission."

"Not if I can damn well help it." Jack tossed his blade aside and lay back, his joints aching from the day's ridiculous exertions. "Especially if what I've heard about the man's experiments in Natural Philosophy are true." _And if they are … Outsider help me, I might put the blade in him myself._

* * *

Had things been different, Jack might have enjoyed a few days in Illium - to coalesce if nothing else. The Goddess changed things, damn her, and now he could not help but feel he was leaving this place with his tail between his legs. _The alternative is a justicar. Focus on that._ Jack felt under his tunic with his right hand for that old scar – just an inch from his heart. _Should have studied human physiology a little better, ma'am. Not quite the same as an asari's._

"Outie, patch me in to Oleg." The omnitool flickered to life, a spinning sundial indicating progress. After a few seconds, Oleg's weathered and branded face appeared as a glowing yellow image.

"Jack. Still alive, I see." Oleg offered him a small smile. "All is well in Illium?"

"All is not well, but the job is done and justice is served." Jack could not help but share Oleg's little chuckle after saying this. "We've got our next target. It's uh, a blast from the past." Oleg raised a thin eyebrow but said nothing at this. "I'll provide more details when we get there."

"Right. Could you provide a specific time?" Oleg leaned in, waiting. Jack glanced up at the Nos Astra terminal's clock.

"Given time changes and the run over there? About five o'clock, Korlus standard. I expect a Dunwall dinner when I get there."

"Whiskey and cigars, of course." Oleg tapped his head in acknowledgement. "We'll be waiting with bated breath, Jack. Be well. We'll see you soon." Oleg's head winked out. Jack rose and stretched his sore limbs. They cracked as he reached his full extension, and when he tried to stand straight, his back still remained a little bent.

"You look like shit, boss," said Banes, grinning like the little shit-eater he was. He lounged back in his chair, shutting his eyes contentedly. "Last mission was barely a warm up."

"Says the man who just had to hold down an office," muttered Jack, thinking back to the three people he had killed. _I hope they were choffers. Most krogan are._ He glanced at the clock again. _A few more minutes._ He glanced at Miranda. She wasn't the most talkative when on the job, especially when with him, but this level of silence usually meant … trouble. Trying to talk her up wouldn't do anything, though. _She'll speak when she's ready._ _Plenty of time to mull over how to tackle her father._

Jack left Miranda to her ruminations for the water fountain. Under his glove, the mark burned. Somewhere in the galaxy, Saren Arterius came a little closer, left hand drenched in his own blood. Jack grimaced as his left hand turned the dial, and the glowing water came up. He sucked it down eagerly.

"It's full of eezo," commented a passing asari, voice mild but still concerned.

Jack wiped his mouth and turned to the asari, who slowed, right hand gently reaching for her sword belt at the expression on Jack's face, likely more on instinct than anything.

"That won't be what kills me."

* * *

Jack never quite felt relief when looking down at the smog-choked skies of Korlus from orbit. It might have been his home, but part of him swore he could smell the choffing place even through the vacuum of space. _It gets into everything. Clothes, hair, skin…_

Still, he could at least feel satisfaction at making it home in one piece when so many others did not. Jack stretched contentedly in his seat, some of the past pains now replaced by only a faint tingling. Next to him, Miranda stirred from her sleep, blinking at the light through the window.

"Home?"

"Yeah." Jack stifled a yawn and looked over the top of his seat. Banes still slumbered, jaw agape, his head resting dangerously close to a salarian businessman who alternated between glancing at his newspaper and glaring at the human. Jack left them both to it.

The landing went as smoothly as any in Korlus, the vessel skidding to a halt as the docking clamps took hold and kept it in place. The three of them emerged, blinking, into the strained Korlus sunshine, noses immediately wrinkling at the smell.

"Sure we can't move our operations somewhere else, boss?" asked Banes, fumbling for the whaler's mask on his belt. "Ugh – never can get used to this reek."

Jack opened his mouth to reply, only to stop. A trio of batarians stood before a sky carriage, a plastic board proffered before them, a single word scribbled on to it in large angry letters. **Hounds.** Jack took a closer look at the face of the batarian holding the sign. _Fuck._

Jack motioned for Banes and Miranda to follow behind, closely. Balak wiggled the sign in mock delight as they approached. His two comrade maintained stony expressions, the folded hooked spears of their people protruding over their backs.

"Jack! It is good to see you, my old friend!" Balak gave Jack a wide smile, exposing a row of needled teeth. He gestured to the sky carriage. "If you would…"

Jack gave Balak a searching expression. _…fear?_ There was genuine friendliness, yes, he could see that. But … something was wrong. Jack looked back at his compatriots. Miranda pursed her lips, but gave a nod. Banes just kept a hand on his sword.

Jack returned the nod and took the passenger's seat. Balak breathed a sigh of relief and grunted some harsh command to his fellows, who took the very back of the carriage. Banes and Miranda took the middle seats, exchanging worried glances as they sat. Balak plunked himself in the driver's seat and started the motor. The carriage rose into the air with a smoothness Jack did not expect.

After they cleared the spaceport, Balak sighed and gave Jack a quick look.

"Sorry about all this. Needed to get clear of the eyes and ears." Balak licked his lips. "Jack, you've got a problem."

"I've got several, Balak. You'll have to specify."

"Your base. It's been compromised." Balak kept his voice even, but Jack's heart immediately began to hammer. "A team of Warfare Overseers landed on the planet yesterday. Just two hours ago, they made for your base."

"Oleg." Jack lifted his left arm for his omnitool, but Balak reached out, gripping his wrist hard.

"Don't be a fool, Jack, they'll just zero in on our location." Balak at least had the grace to sound apologetic. "I wasn't finished, either. You'll never guess who was leading them."

"High Overseer Boyle." Jack leaned back in his chair, teeth gritted. _This day. We knew this day would come._ "Ever since I-"

"Half right, Jack. I did say you would never guess." Balak gave another smile, this one vicious and strained. "Boyle is among the group, but he does not lead them. That role goes to another. One I believe you are familiar with. A certain Royal Protector."

"Samuel Murphy?" Banes's head shot forward, hitting the back of Jack's seat. "You've got to be fucking kidding."

Something plummeted in Jack's stomach. His insides chilled. Time seemed to slow as he shut his eyes, his breathing growing low and shallow. _No. No, this can't be happening._

"If he's here, it's because the Empress sent him," said Miranda, her voice echoing and muffled, as if through water. "Jack – the Empress wants us. For the good of the Empire, she wants us-"

"I know what this means, damn it!" snapped Jack, head swiveling back towards Miranda. "I know what this means, and it doesn't need saying!" Jack glared at Balak. "How'd they find us?"

"I cannot say, Jack. I only know what we saw in the entrails: a Protector and a Hound, blades locked in a tower of swaying ships." Balak gave another thin-lipped smile. "I imagine your people are already captured or dead, my friend, and I cannot ask you to confront some of your most prominent countrymen-"

"Shut up." Balak's smile dropped from his face. Jack stared at his gloved hands, his mark burning, his fists clenched. _How? How do I negotiate the duty that binds us to country and the ties that bind us to kin?_ He would have asked Oleg, for Oleg would know the answer, but…

"Boss?" asked Banes, voice tremulous. "Are we…?"

"We cannot abandon our brothers to their fates." Jack looked up, seeing his own faint reflection in the glass of the car window. He removed the sunglasses, staring straight into his own eyes, so changed from the years of being … special. "And we cannot harm those who are merely doing their own duty, for Empress and Abbey." Jack planted a heavy hand on Balak's shoulder.

"Balak, get us close. We'll take care of the rest." Balak nodded, sparing Jack only the smallest, most worried of glances. "And … thank you."

"Our fates are bound, Jack," replied Balak, turning the carriage right, towards their distant lair. "We do not require your gratitude. But you're welcome."

* * *

Once, the sight of the tower of three ships leaning on one another filled Jack with relief. Here was home and haven to Hounds, the only refuge in miles of blasted ruination. Now, his heart skipped a beat as he clambered the last hill of scrap overlooking their headquarters, Banes and Miranda panting behind him.

"No sentries," said Jack, eyes picking up immediately what they otherwise might have missed, had they not been warned. No Hound stood tall atop the _Montovesto,_ keeping watch on the south and eastern approaches. _The Lady Vengeance_ similarly showed no signs of life. Jack squinted his eyes, passing a finger in front of them. At this distance, in the bright Korlus daytime, he could only barely make out the glowing figures strutting inside the ship … as well as those lying prone or tied up beneath them.

"Boss?" asked Banes, sidling up to Jack and frowning at the three upright ships. "Boss, what do you see?"

"Just enough." Jack let the Void gaze fall away before turning to Miranda. "Miranda, make sure that no lives are taken unnecessarily. These are men of the Empire, same as us. Even as they bare steel on our number, you must spare them." He glanced back to Banes. "Understand?"

"I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding," replied Miranda. Jack caught the faintest whiff of sarcasm, but he could not be certain. Miranda crossed her left arm across her chest. "You intend to split up, sir?"

Jack grimaced. _Somewhere in that heap is the Royal Protector. Perhaps he can be reasoned with._ But Royal Protectors were not usually chosen with regards to their flexibility. _If nothing else, his fate is my responsibility. My people cannot be held responsible. But … it must not come to that. It_ will not _come to that._

"I intend to deal with the head of the serpent while you take the tail unawares." Jack looked back to the two Hounds, hands on the hilts of their blades. "Free the others. Spare the overseers. Do not avenge the fallen." _I doubt they entered the tower with the intent of causing a massacre … but if they touched Oleg …_ Jack's hand clenched against the hilt of his sword. Lips tight, he nodded towards the tower. "Shall we?"

The two of them disappeared into smoke. Jack felt a pang of alarm as he surveilled the area one last time and could not see them, but the anxiety quickly turned to pride. _Good. If I cannot see them, the overseers certainly will not._ Jack vaulted over the edge and made his own approach, the ships looming dark as the sun disappeared behind them.

The hair on Jack's neck prickled as he came to the moat of sludge ringing the headquarters. _I can hear it._ Music, the kind of music that made one's teeth vibrate and their insides clutch together as if reacting to poison. The overseer's mathematics. _Funny. It always made me feel sick, even when I was … before I became a Hound._ Of course, admitting as much back then meant a long visit to a dungeon while such weakness was scourged from his body, so Jack had kept his mouth shut. Now he let himself openly gag as the faint noise made the air vibrate.

The sun fully gave way to shadow as Jack blinked towards the top of an outcropping of rock, placing a hand against its smooth surface and buckling his legs. Maintaining a low profile, he brushed a finger before his eyes. Now, at the foot of his former workplace, he could see everything that transpired.

Overseers patrolled the catwalks with blades drawn. Some maintained a steely vigil over the bound figures of Jack's Hounds, an arm pointed at them, letting their omnitool blare its infernal mathematics at his helpless people. Jack's fists tightened beneath the gloves.

Looking downward, four figures waited at the bottom of the headquarters – two standing, one sitting, and one flat against the floor. _The one in the chair – Leng._ Jack could feel it. As he watched, one of the two standing man – the one broader of shoulder, with an angry swagger to his step – strode forward and struck Leng across the face, making the chair rock. _The Royal Protector. Almost certainly._ The other two remained a mystery for the moment.

Jack turned his gaze upwards. An overseer leaned against the railing, staring out over the sea of gleaming garbage. He pushed off against the rail with a sigh before stretching, gloved hands raised high over his head. Then he turned away, boots clanking against the old steel of the ship. He did not hear the second set of footsteps from behind him.

Jack brought his arms around the overseer without hesitation, bringing his neck into a tight embrace and angling himself downward. The overseer lifted into the air, legs kicking, his throat gurgling as he tried to suck in air, as he fought to free himself from Jack's enhanced grip to no avail.

It took only a few moments. The overseer fell limp in Jack's arms, and Jack lowered the overseer to the floor with a sigh, stopping only to make sure the man's chest still rose and fell. Then he rose into a half-crouch, staring about himself. The catwalk ringed the three ships and was what Jack considered to be the "fourth floors," insofar as their ramshackle headquarters had some kind of order. Two Hounds writhed in pain around the corner, an overseer pointing an outstretched finger at them. The air distorted in Jack's Void vision. _Mathematics._

Jack crept up to the corner and stared around it. The overseer remained stiff and unwavering, demonstrating no discomfort at his own proximity to the grinding tones of the music, each pulse like shards of glass scraping against both rough gravel and smooth granite at the same time. Jack's teeth clenched as he crept forward, stomach tying itself into knots. Without warning, his throat convulsed and he gagged once, twice, stopping several feet away from the overseer. _Can't…_

It was a waste, but Jack ran the real risk of his stomach's contents emptying out on to himself and possibly on to the overseer, something the man was likely to notice. Instead, he produced his own omnitool and pointed it at the man's back. It fired once.

The overseer paused the music with a grunt, his free hand reaching back to where the sleep dart quivered in his left shoulder. He turned in place, but his foot flew free of the floor as his mind's wishes and his body's capabilities parted in a huff. The overseer fell like a ragdoll tossed by a petulant child, his mask's cheek tapping against the floor once as he collapsed into a heap. The overseer sighed once, and then rapturous silence fell on Jack's ears.

"Master," gasped the closer of the two Hounds. _Hackman. And Rogers._ Jack pulled his blade free and crouched down. Without resistance, the metal parted the plastic that bound their wrists. Each man stood, rubbing where the bindings had cut into their arms.

"You'll live?" asked Jack, keeping his voice low. Rogers grunted and turned, letting a dark patch of red on his left shoulder catch the light.

"They poked me some, sir. It hasn't stopped bleeding."

"Saw others poked worse," muttered Hackman darkly, glancing down at the pit below. "I'm fine, master." He nudged the fallen Overseer with a dirty boot. "What do we plan to do with these fools?"

"They are servants of the Empire, the same as us," sat Jack sharply, making Hackman's head turn sharply to his, the lens of his whaler's mask glinting. "We have powers, they do not. We will spare each and every one of them."

"You didn't hear the High Overseer or the Royal Protector, did you, sir?" asked Rogers in a low voice. "They want your head. They're killing one of us for every hour they don't get it."

Hackman coughed into a glove. "It's been two hours. Sir."

A chill settled somewhere deep inside Jack. _Already I am too late. Who did we lose?_ But he could not show how he felt. His bearing stiffened involuntarily, but he kept his gaze level with his two subordinates.

"We have powers. They do not. And I will not validate their reasons for attacking us." Jack gestured to the pit. "Banes and Miranda are freeing the others. Link up with them – you'll see the marks of their handiwork soon enough. And I trust that you will heed my instructions … and that you will not be caught so easily this time." He smiled grimly. "And I will take care of the Royal Protector."

Both Hounds saluted, albeit a little more stiffly than usual. A small trickle of reddish brown ran down the folds of Rogers's sleeve. Then they vanished, leaving Jack alone with the guilt and the doubt. He walked over carefully to the railing, then looked down far below.

Even with Void vision, he still could not make out the exact features of the people below. The broad man struck the Hound on the chair across the face yet again, but Jack could see little else. He focused his energies instead on a hanging hook, dangling just fifteen feet from the floor on a great dangling chain – a remnant of the days these ships could take to the skies.

Jack breathed, and the chain jingled once before he steadied it, keeping his arm and both legs locked out against the chain and hook respectively. His left hand he kept free. Now, he could see. Now, over the distant thrum of his own pulse, he could hear. He directed his gaze below, and winced when he heard the muffled thud of a fist's impact.

"You keep laughing boyo, but I guarantee I'm the one having more fun," growled the broad-shouldered figure. Closer now, Jack could see the salt and pepper sideburns of Samuel Murphy, Royal Protector, the dome of his bare head visible even in the dim lighting. His garb stood out sharply compared to the overseer's – where the others wore the gold and blue coats and snarling masks of their order, Murphy's face went bare, but his breast glinted with steel, the front plate emblazoned with the Empress's seal. When he walked, his boots clanked against the soil, and the air hummed with electricity. _Armor and shielding. So he'll be slow but protected…_

Then Murphy turned, and Jack realized with a pang that this would not be the case. A smidge of wiring ran into Murphy's right eye, which shone with its own luminescence. Half of his face bulged slightly, as if a metal plate had been shoved beneath the skull. _Likely because they shoved a metal plate under the skull._ Jack gritted his teeth. _Would a sleep dart even work?_

The rest of Murphy, on closer inspection, similarly alternated between bulging and angular, leaving Jack to wonder how much of the armor he wore was external. His right arm looked just a smidge longer than the left, and his upper body's carrot shape, now that Jack thought of it, looked a little improbable on a man pushing ninety. _But Royal Protectors do not resign. They die, or their empresses do._

The figure on the chair spat a gob of blood on the already wet floor. He flashed a smile at Murphy that would have been dazzling, had half the teeth not been missing.

"I just didn't realize you liked me this much, Mr. Murphy," said Kai Leng, eyes alive with a perverse glee. "You feel the connection, don't you? Are you _sure_ you're enjoying this more than I am?"

Samuel Murphy rounded on Leng and cracked him across the face once more, hard enough for the impact to ring in Jack's ears for a few seconds afterward. Jack held his breath … and Leng just burst out laughing, spraying Murphy with pink.

"Is this all you can come up with? Beating a nobody, who knows nothing, for no reason?" Leng spat another gob of blood into the soil. "Mr. Murphy, if you're going to penetrate me with that big blade of yours, best just get it over with, aye?"

"The heretic's mind is sicker than I had anticipated," announced the shrouded figure next to Murphy in cold tones. _Boyle._ Even through the mask, he somehow managed to direct a withering glance at Leng, who just licked his lips with an exaggerated slowness. "Murphy – another hour has almost passed. This one has offered nothing but lewd suggestions and loose teeth. It is time to make an end."

"I don't want to give the choffer the satisfaction." Murphy crossed over to where the limp Hound lay in the dust. He lifted him upward with a grunt, holding the man upright with a single arm. "This one is useless." Murphy gestured with the body towards Leng. Oleg's head lolled lifelessly. "And this one still has too many teeth and too few manners."

 _No._ To Jack's surprise, Leng bared his teeth, his face twisting in sudden rage, his blood-streaked face taking on the visage of a predator, blood dripping from the mouth of his latest kill.

"Oh, that's a coward's trick, _Samuel_ ," growled Leng, actively struggling against the ropes binding him to the chair, now. "I earned that ticket to the Void. Begged for it. And now you're sending another in my place?" Leng leaned forward. The chair lifted slightly. Boyle flicked his wrist at Leng, sending a blast of withering music his way. Leng slammed back, the air forced from his lungs. He sat there, limp. Boyle turned to Murphy, who hoisted Oleg's body once more.

"This one has no mark, Murphy," said Boyle. "His face is branded, his clothes stink of the Void, and he dwells in a den of heretics, but he never crossed the final threshold. All here deserve death – but he should go last."

"If Jack's a-lurking, spilling this one's innards on the soil is the only way to flush him out." Murphy shrugged. "We don't have the girl. We don't have the Serkonnan. I've beaten the Ghonny half to death, and if he's here, he doesn't care about it." Murphy ripped his blade free from his scabbard with his free hand. "This is the way forward."

The High Overseer tutted but made no move to stop the Royal Protector. Jack took careful aim with his free hand, the omnibow flaring into life. _Quick!_

The bow thudded once, then Jack swung on the hook, and fired it once more. The first bolt landed quivering in the High Overseer's back. The second landed atop Murphy's bare head. Jack let himself fall, not quite nimbly, from the hook, clenched his left fist, and landed, actually nimbly, in the dust. The two men turned to him, the High Overseer absentmindedly reaching for his back.

"Ah, there he is." Murphy tossed Oleg's limp body aside as if it were filled with straw. The old man landed in a heap, making Jack's face flush. Murphy, blade still in hand, took a step towards Jack before pausing. He reached with thumb and forefinger for the bolt lodged in his head, and tugged it free. He gave the bolt a quick look and then flicked it aside contemptuously. The High Overseer meanwhile, staggered in place.

"Did he…?" Boyle teetered, one hand reaching for his pistol.

"You'll live," called back the Royal Protector without looking. "He's not here to shed blood, lad. This one still thinks himself a hero of the Empire. Doubtless he thinks this is all just a misunderstanding." Murphy cocked his head, his sideburns seeming to bristle. "Isn't that right, boyo?"

"I mean none of you any harm," replied Jack, putting his two hands in front of himself, despite his fingers itching for the hilt of his sword. "I know I made a mistake-"

"Oh. Good." Murphy gave Jack a warm smile. "Then you know what you need to do to fix it then." He flicked his blade downward towards the earth. "Lie down then, Mr. Harper. I assure you that I will work with a quickness."

Jack's opened his mouth, but no sound came out. _Fall over, damn it. I've seen those bolts slow down men half again your size._

But Samuel Murphy gave no indication of slowing. He merely paced hungrily before Jack, legs tensed, eyes never leaving Jack's face.

"What? Scared? You know what has to be done." Murphy gestured to the ground again. "Lie down, Jack. Empress's wishes. She needs your head to make peace with the turians. I know it ain't in your nature to sacrifice-"

"Don't you dare!" Jack produced his own sword, air whistling as he brought it ready. He could see movement up above, in the corner of his vision, but no one called out. No one started running. "All of this, I did for _her._ "

"Really now?" Murphy's voice became a low growl. "Right. Accepting his mark, accumulating all that wealth, killing all those people for batarians – all for the benefit of the Empress. I understand, Jack." Murphy gestured once more, for what Jack assumed would be the final time. "But now the choice is to kill me … or accept some damn responsibility. And I would love to know how, exactly, killing me will be for the good of the Empire."

"I can still fix this!" Jack retreated as Murphy advanced, all glimmer of even feigned friendliness fading from his features. Jack's left hand clenched. _I killed a krogan. I know I can take you if I have to._ "Please – I am trying to make up for what I did!"

"And I am giving you the fastest means of doing that." Samuel advanced again, careful footsteps kicking up puffs of dirt. "Jack … last chance. Your men walk free, what's left of 'em. We have it on good authority those party tricks of theirs won't last once your head's resting on a pike. They'll be no threat, and free to fuck up their life again at least one more time." Samuel cocked his head. "But you? It's the choice between one destructive element and the Empire's wellbeing, Jack. The Empress made the right call. Now – you gonna do as you're told?"

Jack lifted his left hand and fired, once, twice, three times into Samuel Murphy's neck. The bolts hung, emerald and quivering, for a few moments. Murphy's eyes widened. His stance, once tight and poised, suddenly slackened, his feet skidding against the dust. Jack stepped forward, breathing a sigh of relief, ready to catch the older man as he fell. Jack took a step forward. Then another.

As Jack took the third step forward, Murphy's blade flicked out with a bark of laughter. Jack yelped as it bit into his chest, skating across a rib and leaving a short red line. Murphy straightened and leapt forward, bellowing like a demon, all pretense of being massively drugged suddenly forgotten. _Damn him!_

Jack retreated, blade risen upward. Murphy's first horizontal cut met Jack's blade in a shower of sparks and an impact that jarred Jack's arm, leaving a tingling numbness. But Jack held. The next diagonal slash, he stepped aside and left the air whistling, before sending out a blow of his own. Murphy darted backwards, face contorted in a rictus of concentration, old scars and new wrinkles fighting for dominance on his weathered face.

Jack, breathing heavily, knew what he had to do. Murphy stood there, watching, eyes briefly darting to Jack's left hand. _He knows. Too bad._ Jack lifted his left arm, mark flaring…

Murphy punched into the air with his free arm, his omnitool coming alive. A blare like a foghorn ripped through the air, making Jack's ears pop. His insides shuddered with revulsion, and he fell to a knee. Murphy looked little better, his teeth bared in obvious pain, his left arm shaking with exertion, but still he kept it lifted.

"A song fit to dance to, eh Jack?" laughed Murphy mirthlessly, taking his first hesitant step towards his foe. Heavy footsteps clattered overhead. Murphy looked up and smiled. "Oh … I can see they agree." Murphy took another step forward. With a snap, the music shut off, and he lunged the rest of the way.

Hot strength flooded Jack's arms, and he lifted his blade upward. Murphy's embossed sword skidded against Jack's plain blade, a small spark lifting from the impact. Jack, despite himself, let his own blade flick out in a riposte. It nicked Murphy's shoulder, only for the man's shields to spark to life, almost wrenching Jack's weapon from his grasp. Murphy grinned at him.

"Don't lose your temper now, Jack."

Footsteps thundered down the gangplank behind them. Jack did not dare turn around, but he knew what was coming.

"It's him!"

"The heretic!"

"The traitor! Strike now!"

Murphy smiled and lifted his arm again. Jack staggered as the impact of the sound struck him. Feet pounded against dirt, growing closer-

A shrill whistle echoed from the catwalks above, cutting through the music. Jack looked up. Miranda crouched on top of a railing, crimson robe fluttering in the slight wind carrying through the gaps in the three ships. Several Hounds stood around her, blades clutched tightly in gloved grip.

"Rally!"

As one, the Hounds vanished. A great poof of dust went up as the weight of fifteen odd people suddenly pressed against the earth.

Murphy swore but kept his arm upraised. The Overseers shouted as their advance on Jack was stymied by a surge of leather clad heretics, their magic bound by infernal song, but their wits and muscle still (mostly) intact. A frenzied melee erupted behind Jack, who tensed himself and lunged forward, blade whistling through the air.

Once again, it skidded off Murphy's shields, but Murphy still took a step back, wincing at the force against his ribs. With a grimace, he lowered his omnitool, letting the music fade.

"Spare those you can!" shouted Jack as the music faded. He advanced on Murphy, right foot in front, left foot perpendicular behind.

"Converge on the Illusive Man!" shouted someone from behind him, but his shout came followed swiftly by a sound of ringing metal as someone struck him about the face. Murphy rolled his eyes and reached for his pistol holster.

Jack focused his attention upwards and transversed, appearing once again at the hook. With a cry, he plunged downward, directly for Murphy's puzzled face. The Royal Protector lifted his arms.

Samuel Murphy took Jack full on, his arms juddering once at the weight and momentum of his opponent before throwing him aside. Jack rolled on the dirt and brought his blade upward once more. Murphy simply squeeze the trigger on his pistol.

Jack grunted, shields flashing as the bullet sent him reeling. Murphy took a running jump and was on Jack like a Pandyssian pox, his blade a blur of sharp motion.

Jack rolled out of the way, leaving Murphy's blade embedded in the soil while he stood. To his left, an Overseer gaped at him as he stood, his blade locked with a Hound's, only for the Hound to press his distraction and deal a dizzying blow with the hilt of his blade.

Jack ignored the sound of gurgling as the Hound established a Tyvian Hold, however, keeping his eyes on Murphy. The Royal Protector took a quick glance around him, shrugged, and tapped his gun. The symbol of a flame shone above the sight. _Shit._

Taking only a second to glance to his right, Murphy fired once to his right. An ungodly shriek went up as a Hound's leathers caught fire, sending acrid smoke into the air. Murphy laughed and shook his gun. The flame appeared again. He took another glance to his left. _Damn it!_

Jack transversed, appearing behind Murphy. He reached out and took hold of the man's enormous torso with all the strength he could muster, feeling the mix of muscle and metal buried beneath his flesh. Jack exerted himself through the Void, pulling his arms as tight as they would go. _Come on … please…_

But while he found purchase, he also found resistance. Murphy only laughed again before wrenching his neck forward. Jack's grip slipped away as if thrown by a krogan, and he tumbled through the air. Jack landed on the flat of his back, the wind knocked from him. Pounding footsteps followed his descent. _We must…_

Jack lifted his left arm and called out to time itself. At his command, it halted its inexorable march, if only for a few seconds. Jack pushed himself to a knee, gasping. His men moved around him unfazed, taking the time to position themselves behind their opponents. The sounds of choking filled the room. _Yes … spare them._

Samuel Murphy stood, mid-charge. A Hound took a tentative step up to the man, only for Jack to wave him off.

"No good. Too strong. Finish the others." Jack wiped his mouth and stood, pulling his own pistol from his holster. He aimed at his foe's legs, trying to ignore the sound of wet gurgling from a few feet away. _Someone dying. One of mine. I led them to this …_ Jack fired once, and the bullet hung in the air, heavy and bristling with heat. He took aim at the other leg and fired again, leaving a twin bullet beside the first. Jack took a deep breath.

Time resumed its regular schedule. Overseers fell with a clatter, their will to kill overridden by a sudden bout of unconsciousness. Murphy yelled as the two bullets hit either leg, his shields shattering with the sound of breaking glass. Jack ran forward and transversed one last time, letting the momentum carry his swing. Murphy gasped as Jack struck him full force, the point of his blade driving into his unprotected shoulder. Blood welled up as Jack drove the point home, only sinking further as he fell on top of Murphy, his face now shone with sweat. _Surrender. Surrender, damn it!_

"I don't think so, Jack," gasped Murphy as Jack gritted his teeth and drove the point in further. Jack opened his mouth to retort, but it turned to a bang and then a scream. Something sent Jack straight up into the air, his own shields breaking. As he fell in a crumped heap, he felt heat. He looked down to see flames, dancing, dancing from his chest.

With a yell, Jack began to roll, kicking up dust as he went, the heat sending red pain through his chest and abdomen. His side struck against something hard, and he looked up into the mask of an Overseer. The Overseer lifted his blade.

"I'll-"

The other end of a sword snaked through his abdomen in a shower of red. Miranda pushed her blade all the way up and through the Overseer, who began to shake uncontrollably. _No. This shouldn't be happening._ Miranda pulled the blade back through the man with a sigh, letting the blood flow freely. The Overseer fell, partially on Jack, his blood now leaking on to his smoking leathers. And all the while behind, Murphy ploughed the dust and the melee, hunting for his foe.

"Jack!" Jack stood, legs trembling, face contorting. Murphy fired another incendiary shot at a Hound locked with an Overseer, and both went up in flame. Murphy cursed and gave Jack a venomous look.

"Men of the Empire, Jack! All men of the Empire. Their blood is on your hands!"

Jack had no energy left for magic. He lifted his gun and fired once at Murphy. His shields took the blow, and this time he did not even break stride. He brought his sword arm back, and it was all Jack could do to lift his own.

"You will not touch him!" Miranda stepped before Jack, her own bloody sword raised. Murphy raised his pistol, but when he pulled the trigger, Miranda faded away while Jack took a scrambling lurch left. Murphy grunted in confusion before the blade licked his side, sending up another fresh surge of blood.

The Royal Protector's blade wheeled about, catching Miranda's full on. Miranda almost fell flat on to her arse as Murphy's sword struck her own, but she stayed steady. The next blow she dodged, ducking to the side while she raised her left ar. Her omnibow blazed forth. She fired a single glowing bolt at Murphy's face. It struck the side of his skull and bounced off with a sound of metal on metal, another ember sent to be smothered by the dust.

"You're going to need a bigger bolt, lass." Murphy grinned and carried forward. _No. No!_

Jack, arms shaking, levelled his pistol at Murphy's back and fired. The blow took Murphy's shields full force, and this time he did stagger from the surprise of the impact. Jack let the adrenaline flow through him and ran, full-tilt, at the stunned Royal Protector. They collided with bone crunching force. This time, Murphy fell flat on his front, his gun hand faced away from Jack.

Jack reached for the man's throat this time, finding a reassuring softness. He began to squeeze, knowing that this would be a poor idea on a normal human being, and hoping it would be just enough force to put the man down without killing him.

Murphy thrashed, elbows lashing backwards, his pelvis thrusting up and down in the dust, trying to throw Jack from him. As Jack's grip began to slip, he felt a weight against him – Miranda throwing herself on top of the two of them. Then Banes. Then others – McCullum, Yaxley, Trimmons – all of them piled on top to force Murphy to stay down. Jack's grip did not loosen. Murphy's thrashing slowed from a constant flurry of activity to a few pitiful final shakes of his torso.

With a final grunt, Samuel Murphy fell still and silent. Jack released his grip. A thin whistle of air went through the man's lips. When Jack stood, it was in an arena of the dead, dying, and unconscious.

"Bind him," said Jack urgently, and a Hound hurried past him with his omnitool ready. "Bind them all. Then bring the Protector and the High Overseer to me." Jack glanced at the stillest bodies. Not all of them wore golden masks.

It did not take long to separate the living from the dead, nor for the survivors to be "tended to." Six Hounds had not survived the melee, and five Overseers likewise would not be returning to the Abbey. No one went unwounded – even Miranda sported a fresh cut on her left leg, which sported a steadily reddening dressing. Out of the chaos, Oleg Petrovsky rose, clutching his balding head and looking around blearily.

"Oh no," he said when he realized what he had awoken to. "Oh no, oh no."

"It's all right. Oleg." Jack stepped forward with a bloody hand outstretched, but Oleg recoiled as if the hand were covered in maggots. "Oleg?"

"No," said Oleg again, his eyes fixed on the High Overseer, now bound and sitting upright against the Royal Protector. "No, this … this cannot be happening."

Kai Leng spat a gob of blood into the soil. He smiled at Oleg, his mouth containing far fewer teeth than Jack was used to seeing.

"Sorry, old man. You owe me a few teeth."

Jack stood over the two enemy leaders, his hands flexing and unflexing. _Bentley, Jirard, Simmons, Staver, Loxley, and Stewart. All dead. Five of yours as well._

 _And … a traitor. I think I know who._

"Wake them." Leng grinned and pulled Boyle's mask free from his face. A shock of blond hair fell free, revealing the surprisingly unaged face of High Overseer Boyle; his cheeks might have collected one or two wrinkles, but he looked much the same now as he had twenty years ago. Leng slapped the man about both cheeks before administering the antivenom from his omnitool. The High Overseer jerked awake. Murphy, meanwhile, stirred after the first blow.

A heavy silence fell. The two men took a lingering look at the stacked bodies of both sides, then at the bound forms of their remaining men. High Overseer Boyle tried to stand, only to find himself bound to Murphy. Murphy only gave a high laugh.

"Congratulations, boyo!" he shouted, before spitting a heavy gob of fluid at Jack's boots. "You won. The Empire is saved."

"Someone revealed our location," said Jack, voice carrying clearly. "Someone betrayed us. Someone is responsible for all these deaths. And I think I know who."

Jack turned around and pointed. Jacob Taylor gaped at him.

"Our newest member. Where were your biotics?"

"They broke my amp, sir." Jacob Taylor turned his head, revealing a heavy bruise. "They knew who I was."

"Convenient." Jack flicked his eyes once. Jacob Taylor doubled over as Miranda struck him in the stomach and then kicked out his knees, forcing him to the ground. Jack glanced back to the two captives for a reaction. Boyle only muttered the Seven Scriptures under his breath. Murphy just grinned widely at him.

"You really are a choffin' eejit, aren't you, Jack?"

"Your loyalty cannot falter without your powers also fading!" shouted Jack, turning to the assembled Hounds that remained. "Only the newest amongst us are the exception. The Royal Spymaster sent Taylor as a killswitch against us!"

"Marines don't … snitch … sir," gasped Jacob Taylor, one hand braced against the ground while the other clutched his stomach. "I … didn't…"

"Bring him forward."

Rough hands shoved the sprawling marine to Jack, who drew his own blade forth. _It has to be him. It does not fit anyone else._ He took another glance at Murphy. The man gave him a wide and bloody smile, and then tilted his head towards Jacob Taylor. The marine looked up at Jack, not pleading, just … afraid. _Is … is it…?_

Jack's arm trembled. Then he spoke, as authoritatively as he could muster.

"The penalty for betraying us is death." Jack grabbed the blade with his other hand and lifted it high. He met Jacob's eyes. "To the Void with you."

"Jack, no!" Oleg sprinted forward, arms outstretched. He stepped between Jack and Jacob, eyes wild, the brand twisting on his face. "Jack, no, please, it was me! I … I did it." Oleg stopped, panting before Jack, his mouth flicked with spit. "Jack … the boy is blameless. I turned over the Hounds."

Jack shut his eyes, Oleg's words bouncing through his skull. _Oleg._ The man who gave him life all those years ago. Who had stood by him when the Abbey would not. Jack opened his eyes. The room now stood dead silent. Jack could not even hear any breathing.

"Why, Oleg?" asked Jack, finally.

"For the Empire." Oleg looked over Jack's shoulder at the two bound men. "I never wanted to kill Desolas. I knew it was a bad idea but … I could always have been wrong. You had gotten us this far and … you had done more good than bad."

"That was the Empress's reckoning too, lad," said Murphy from behind them, his voice thick, possibly with blood. "You were our dirty secret, our totally deniable black ops. We didn't give a toss if you died. We could send you wherever to do whatever … but you had to take jobs from the batarians, didn't you?"

"You said you could make it right, Jack," said Oleg sadly, his eyes not meeting Jack's own. "And I disagreed again. And this time, I acted on what I knew to be right."

"I followed you on the Citadel," said Jack, heart beating faster, hoping desperately that this was … something. A prank, a bad dream, something. Something not real. "You spoke to your family."

"I knew you would be suspicious, Jack," replied Oleg. "So, yes, I met with my family. Then, when I knew you would leave, I went to the Empire's Embassy. I told them everything. I even gave them your flight schedule, for all the good it did."

"I sent you the money you needed…"

Oleg blinked once. Two streams of moisture rolled down each dirty cheek.

"You had to make it difficult, didn't you, Jack? The first thing I saw after speaking with the Empress … that message. "For love of family.""

Oleg knelt before Jack, his head bowed.

"I will not ask for forgiveness, Jack. The only forgiveness I ever desired was for conspiring to murder Desolas. This was the result." Oleg looked up. "The penalty is death. I have long eluded that sentence … thanks to you. But no longer." His pale fingers snaked beneath his leathers and pulled. Oleg bared his pale chest to Jack, exposing his heart. "I am your traitor. To the Void with me."

The blood thundered within Jack's skull. The Hounds stared on all around, gazes obscured beneath the masks. _The penalty is death…_

Jacob Taylor stared with mixed awe and fear at Oleg's kneeling form, his own misery forgotten. The two prisoners watched with mute if detached interest. Jack looked down at his already bloody blade. _You know what you must do._

Jack reached down and pressed the tip of the sword against Oleg's chest. He gasped at the cold, but did not look away from Jack. Jack took a long hard look into the man's eyes. At the brand that twisted on his face. _The brand I should be wearing._

Jack lowered his blade, then let it drop completely. Hounds murmured all around him, some with an undercurrent of anger. Jack gave a flick of his gloved wrist and turned away.

"Get gone."

Oleg did not move. "Jack…"

"Leave!" screamed Jack, rounding on Oleg, the spit flying from his face. "Leave, Outsider curse you! Leave and do not come back!"

Oleg stood, his bearing stiff. He took one last look around the room. Then, with poise Jack was not certain he himself could muster in the same situation, he turned and made for the gangway. He left Jack's sight. His footsteps faded away. Then, Oleg was gone.

"Sorry, Jacob," muttered Jack, extending a hand to the marine. The marine did not take it, but instead rose and dusted himself off. "I … I thought…"

"Yeah," replied Jacob, turning away and returning to the crowd. "Sure."

"Guess he plays favorites, lads!" called out Murphy, winking at the assembled Hounds. "You sure you want him as your boss?"

"Let me kill him," begged Leng, wringing his hands and staring at the Royal Protector with naked hatred. "Please. It is owed. You let one bastard walk away that should have died-"

"No one else dies," retorted Jack, but Samuel Murphy only laughed.

"No, Jack, I'm afraid at least one more has to go. That's the way of it."

Jack kneeled down to Murphy's level.

"I'm not killing the Royal Protector. The Empress would never forgive me."

"You are correct." Murphy inclined his head. "She won't. Are you volunteering to take my place, then? Because only one of us is walking away today. There is no alternative."

"I am letting you live, Sam-"

"Don't you fucking call me by my first name you ill-bred turd of a heretic." Murphy spat again, this time catching Jack in the face. Jack grimaced and looked away, wiping the liquid free. The Hounds began murmuring again, louder this time.

"Just kill him, boss," snapped Banes with an angry gesture. "He put some of ours in the ground, it's only fair."

"I am letting you live, _Murphy,_ " repeated Jack through gritted teeth. But Murphy only smiled and sucked on a cheek. This time, Jack evaded the gob of liquid.

"Enough, Samuel." High Overseer Boyle's words stopped the Royal Protector short. "You need not debase yourself like this. The Empress would shudder to see it."

Jack crossed over to Boyle's side. The blond man stared up at him with the palest eyes Jack had ever seen. There was no trace of anger, nor fear, nor even disgust. It was like gazing into a sheet of ice. Cold. Unyielding.

"I am letting you and your men live. Do you accept?"

"I am not honor-bound as Murphy is. I follow the Seven Scriptures." Boyle inclined his head. "There are some High Overseers who would have thrown their men into death for the sake of the Abbey's ideals. Some might even think I were capable of such. But these men would do more good alive than dead."

"How the fuck is he being more reasonable than Murphy?" asked a Hound from the crowd. Jack just raised a hand.

"So, you will leave peacefully?"

"Yes. And then regroup. And then bomb this site from orbit." Boyle stared at Jack without pity. "And know this: of all the things the Abbey has done, you are its greatest mistake, Jack Harper. I should have throttled you as you slept, that night they brought you to the Abbey. "Ill-omened" the Sisterhood called you, but I saw only a boy."

 _Even back then … ill-omened?_ Jack stared down at the man who had once been his leader. Someone he had even admired, from a distance.

"We will be gone by then," said Jack, but Boyle only shrugged.

"I will cleanse the stain of your memory from these ruins. And I need not dwell on your continued existence for long, for He is coming."

Jack felt a chill down his spine. His eyes widened. A flash of gold went through his mind.

"Yes," breathed Boyle. "You know of whom I speak. How improbable, that the Empire's fate would rest in his hands."

"Enough!" snapped Murphy, and Boyle fell silent. "Point is, Jack, you're fucked. I'll offer you a gentler death than He will, I guarantee it."

Jack straightened. "Unbind him. Let them walk free."

With grunt of disapproval, the Hounds converged on the Overseers. Some stood unsteadily, others had to be carried by their comrades. High Overseer Boyle rose with shaking knees, and then wiped the dust from his coat.

"Samuel," he said turning to the man, "I suspect this is it." His voice took on a soft tone, making Jack cock his head. "It … has been an honor. Despite our differences, I always respected your dedication."

Murphy grunted. "Likewise, lad. Now, get your masks out of here, and let me and Jack settle this like the men one of us is."

The Overseers tramped out, leaving only Murphy. Leaving only the Hounds. Leaving only Jack.

Murphy stared up at Jack with naked contempt in his eyes, blood and saliva running down his sideburns.

"Well, choffer? What's it going to be?"

"I'm going to set you free," said Jack. "You will tell the Empress I mean no harm."

"You will set me free, and then I will snap your neck." Murphy chuckled and shook his head, then gave Jack a sad look. "You don't get it, do you, Jack? Royal Protectors do not resign. They live until they don't, or until the Empress … until there is a new Empress. Or Emperor. And a Royal Protector who cannot fulfill his purpose is no longer worthy of the title." Murphy gave a pointed look to the bodies of the fallen Overseers. "And I have failed."

"Murphy." Jack kneeled down to his level. "It doesn't need to be like this. You can choose to walk away."

"Don't." Murphy gave Jack a cool look. "He came to me in my sleep, Jack. Same as you. Said only way I could win was with his choffing mark. Same as you."

"And you didn't take it…"

"Don't talk to me of choice, Jack." Murphy gave a shake of his head. "We always have choices, even if they're all bad ones. I could choose my honor or my life, and I chose my honor."

"Murphy." Jack shut his eyes and breathed heavily. _I … have nothing to say._ The better man stood before him. _Should I just … lay down and let it end?_

"I'd be quick, Jack," murmured Murphy. "And I bear your lads – and lass – no ill will. It could end right now, if you want it to. _I_ don't have to die today. Unless you will it."

"I have to fix this, Murphy," said Jack looking away from the man's tired eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm going to untie you." _Please, don't. The Empress will never forgive me._

I _will never forgive me._

Jack undid the omnibinds with a slice of his blade. Then he rose and turned away. From behind, he heard Murphy stand … and then rush forward. Jack raised his left hand.

Time stopped. He turned slowly. Murphy stood, mid-charge, fists balled, face twisted in a desperate grimace. _He knows the Hounds will kill him, even if they got me._ _It was a choice between his honor and his life._ Jack stepped closer, readying the point of his blade. _I'm sorry._

Jack placed his left hand at the back of Murphy's thick neck, and pressed the point against his throat. With a quick jerk, he pushed his head forward. The point went in several inches, and then came out, bloody. Blood fountained out and then hung, motionless, in the air, the droplets hanging like crimson crystals from a chandelier. The Hounds all watched and waited for the moment time would return, and the world would realize Samuel Murphy had been dealt a mortal wound.

The grayness fled from Jack's vision. Murphy catapulted forward with a gurgle, and this time he fell like a sack of Morley potatoes. For a few seconds he thrashed, his heavy hands seeking the source of the bleeding, but then he slowed. From his prone position, he lifted his head and let his lips twist upwards one last time as he smiled at Jack, the grin widening with every slowing pulse of blood.

Then, as the ground reddened around him, Samuel Murphy slumped over and fell still.

 _The Empress protects. She does not forgive._

Jack looked up at the grey skies of Korlus above. Obscured by smog and cloud, the sun grew a little brighter.

The end drew a little nearer.


End file.
